Labyrinth
by Ambrelle Shirak
Summary: What if... the human government learned of the existence of Plutarkians and Martian Mice?  What would they do to stay secret?  With Steel and Ricochet.
1. Chapter 1

**Labyrinth**

**Chapter One**

"This is not good. Not good at all." At least they weren't shooting… yet. But all those blue lights and sirens had been joined by numerous, ominous black cars. Ricochet let one hand slide from its grip, just long enough to jostle the suicide-shift up a notch. Sparkle's engine deepened in tone, and together they easily began to pull away from the pursuing vehicles. With a twitch of her thumb on the handlebar, she activated the comlink. "Just who was that guy, Sis?"

"_Don't care._" Steel wasn't even trying to pretend that she was calm. That rattled Rico more than the potential deadly response the human authorities had. "_Just lose the humes._" Steel's radio picked up the scream of tires and rending of metal as someone near by crashed. "_Lose 'em fast._"

Rico breathed an affirmative and cut the comlink. She refused to acknowledge that she was scared, as the fear would only hurt the situation. Breathing short and fast, she gunned Sparkle through the evening streets of Baltimore. Keeping every running light off, she used the digitized readout on the interior of her helm for guidance. Cutting the wrong way up a one-way street, she redlined past lines of traffic, leaning low behind her chopper's handlebars. A few sirens cut short with the sound of screaming metal and whining tires; Rico winced and hoped that the humans had survived the fiery wrecks.

"Sit rep, sissy?" Rico asked, voice shaking. The sirens were fading into the night as the humans chose the priority of wounded civilians over her mad flight.

"_Calvert and Orleans. Too many._" Steel was breathless over the comlink, growling the words through clenched teeth.

Rico didn't bother to answer, instead she simply hit her front brakes and gunned the gas. Sparkle's rear tire smoked on the pavement as the bike swung around in a circle. Releasing the front brake caused the rear tire to bite, and Sparkle to shoot forward, front tire lifting up in a wheelie.

"_Rico, hurry up! Aww, shit!_" Steel's com transmission sent through the hiss of anger as well as the symphony of squealing tires and blaring sirens. Suddenly, a roar of metal tore across the speakers, so loud it left Rico's ears ringing.

"Sis?" Rico was answered only by a blast of static. After a few tense heartbeats, a groan of pain rolled over the broken link. "Hold on, Sis. I'll be there in just a minute!"

Static again. Then the sharp bark of Steel's sidearm. Rico rounded the corner of Calvert and Orleans streets at top speed, only to pull up hard on all brakes, skidding sideways to a stop. She held her breath waiting for the police and suits to turn in her direction. They remained silhouetted against the blue and red lights. Walking her bike backwards slowly into the shadows once more, Rico began to magnify the scene through her helmet.

The side of the Baltimore Sun building was scorched from the explosion. The melted slag at the base of the building was a mess of black and white police cruiser and twisted matte metal of a ebony motorcycle. Between the bulk of the cruisers used to cordon off the area, Rico spotted three limp shapes being carried from the wreckage. Two humans, and … Steel.

Ricochet's heart hammered hard in her ears. Sparkle began to back up once more, slowly rolling so that neither the motorcycle nor the stunned rider would attract any unwanted attention. The motorcycle's AI beeped softly at its rider; Rico bit back a harsh sob, shaking her head. She couldn't dive into that gathering of humanity. Rico knew she couldn't take on that many humans on her own.

Thumbing the comlink again, Rico set it to scan through various frequencies, until she began to pick up snippets of the police dispatch. Hearing a description of her motorcycle, and being identified as a potential 'second shooter', Rico slowly idled away from the crash scene. She continued to listen even as she began to drive out of the city, taking mental notes of just where her sister was being taken.

She knew she needed help, and she knew exactly where to turn.

* * *

The rain had started less than four hours before the Cubs game was scheduled. The heavy downpour had not only cancelled the ball game, but it lay a damper on the entire city as it pelted down. No one was paying attention to Vinnie's sulky mood, much less attempting to bait him out with a good fight. Modo was too busy polishing Lil' Hoss of the mud that she'd gained from the simple ride from scoreboard to the garage. The shop floor was filled with Georgie Brown's latest hot picks of the week, giving Modo the perfect way to ignore Vincent.

Throttle however was in the back office, leaned over the back of Charley's chair while she clicked her way around the internet. Normally, a rainy day would provide them with the distraction of cooking up new weapons, or trying to keep the boys out of trouble, but Throttle was much more concerned with a game of connect-the-clues.

Charley had five or six browser windows open, and she kept flipping through them as directed by Throttle. When she had finally finished reading the full article she had highlighted, she glanced up at the Martian. Throttle pulled his specs off to rub thoughtfully at the small ache between his eyes.

"There's a pattern here, and we're just not seeing it." He muttered, before leaning forward again. Reaching one arm over Charley's shoulder, he took control of the mouse. "See. Eight influential men and women over the last three years. Corporate heads, philanthropists, even an archaeologist."

"Nine," Charley corrected softly. "Counting Ambassador St. Pouligny."

"Right. And he's the only one that we're sure was Plutarkian. If we could just find pictures for the others…" Throttle sighed again, straightening to pace to the other side of the office. "They all started in North Dakota, with the head of Testouri Industries. After that, we've got what… no real discernable trail. Jumps from east to west in a matter of months."

"But they've all been hushed up." Charley pointed out. "Which really screams Plutarkian, or… cover up."

"Right." Throttle started to continue, but the garage entrance bell rang distracting them both. Charley pushed herself to her feet, making for the door, while Throttle drew back a little to give her room. They both hoped that the Mice in the front had enough sense to get out if it wasn't one of the regulars. Before Charley could even reach her office door, she heard the unmistakable sound of Modo breaking into a sprint. Flinging the door wide, she was witness to a leather-clad, helmeted female collapse into Modo's grasp.

Looking up helplessly, Modo found Charley's gaze first. "Charley-ma'am, I think she's hurt…"

Throttle followed the mechanic as she headed for the stricken woman. Vinnie pulled himself away from the window to join Throttle. The younger Mouse was wringing his hands together, as though he were nervous. Throttle gave him a nudge, and a questioning tilt of his head.

Vinnie suppressed a shiver that started down at the end of his tail. "She… she said my name, man." Curiously, Vinnie took another few steps forward, while Charley worked on the chin strap of the helmet.

"Huh?" Furrowing her brow, Charley ran her fingers along the strap again. "Fur?" She found the clasp easily the second time, and unsnapped it. Modo held the woman's shoulders up, while Charley worked the helmet off. When the unconscious woman's head fell back against Modo's shoulder, he swore softly under his breath.

"She's soaked." Charley glanced up to see three astonished expressions surrounding her. They were all staring at the limp Mouse in Modo's arms. "Throttle. _Throttle_. Get the cot in the back. Vinnie, blankets, and… and towels."

Modo's mouth worked for a few minutes, trying to find something to say, even as Charley made him help peeling the drenched leather jacket off her. She was just a little thing, and Modo worried over hurting her inadvertently. When Throttle had the cot set up, Modo took his time in transferring her over. Piling the blankets at the foot of the cot, Vinnie leaned forward slightly to stare at the Mouse.

"Recognize her at all?" Throttle asked quietly, drawing Vinnie away. Charley continued to strip the soaked clothes off the Mouse in the meantime, bundling her up in layers of blankets as she went.

Vincent shook his head, but didn't say anything aloud. There were a thousand reasons that she could have known his name, they had been practically celebrities on Mars after all. She looked familiar, as though he could have known her from bumping into her on a street, or maybe even a mission.

Modo joined them, shooed away by Charlie. He leaned against the door and sighed softly. In the relative silence, the rain beat against the roof like a thousand marching feet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Labyrinth**

**Chapter Two**

The rain hadn't let up yet. It still pelted down in sheets, obscuring the view even just across the street. Charley had whipped up a batch of ballpark-style dogs in an attempt to keep the boys from having severe cabin fever. Throttle had taken up Vinnie's previous position by the window, leaning on the frame to watch a world blurred by rain. Vinnie and Modo had somehow managed to make Extreme Checkers into a quiet game, letting the unexpected guest rest.

The folding table rattled as Vinnie jumped his piece over five of Modo's. The big Mouse scowled before he reluctantly kinged Vinnie's piece. Throttle glanced back at his bros in time to see Charley coming down the stairs with another batch of hot dogs. She tweaked Vinnie's ear as he reached up to grab most of them. Flinching and holding the wounded bit, he gave out his best pout.

Charley sighed. "Many more of these and you'll lose that girlish figure of yours." The chide was playful, even as she set a plate piled high with hot dogs between the two checker-players. A six-pack of root beer joined the plate, clinking lightly as she set it down. She caught Throttle's gaze before he looked away, toward the closed office door.

When Charley joined him at the window, she offered him his own plate, and bottle. With a grim smile in response, Throttle refused the food. She remained, watching the rain with him for a few minutes.

"Remember last year?" Throttle asked suddenly without looking at her.

She hesitated. His reflection in the glass was clearer than anything in the rain-drenched streets. "What part of it?"

"My shoulder. Vinnie's ribs."

Charley shivered, hugging herself. She remembered it all too clearly. Throttle's shoulder had been easy to relocate, except she'd made Modo do it. The tense hours of waiting, reading, trying to figure out how best to help Vinnie… that had been the worst part. Seeing him helpless and in pain, unable to even put on a brave face, it had nearly broken her heart. Throttle curled his arm around her shoulders, lending her all the comfort he could give, before he continued.

"We were rescued that day. We would have been finished if they hadn't shown up." Throttle's fingers tightened on her shoulder, until she reached up, and took hold of them. He lifted his head and looked out the window once more. Charley wondered if he was studying her reflection the way she was his. "I've got a sneaking suspicion..." He paused for a breath, and hesitated to go any further.

Movement in the reflection caused both of them to turn around. The office door had crept open. Modo had risen to his feet, and grabbed Vinnie's arm, preventing the youngest of them to stand. The world seemed frozen in time. Throttle dropped his arm from Charley's shoulders, and took a step forward.

His movement broke the pall. The Mouse dropped her leather jacket, took half a step back and glanced around at the exits. Modo gave Vinnie's arm a hard squeeze, before releasing him, and putting himself between the girl and the main doors. Vinnie rose slowly, mouth slightly open as he tried to put words to his thoughts.

The girl put both her hands in the air, her gloves were black against silvery-gray fur, both index fingers cut away from the fabric. Violet eyes darted around from one Mouse to the next. "I'm unarmed!" she finally said, her voice breaking with uncertainty.

Modo glanced back at Throttle, before letting out a low chuckle. "We're not gonna hurt ya, ma'am." He spread his hands out and gently nudged Vinnie to do the same. Once the girl started to relax, it was Charley that approached.

"You really should keep resting. Exhaustion shouldn't be taken lightly." Charley went to take the Mouse's arm, but she turned, pressing her back against the door jamb.

"How long've I been out?"

"A few hours, at least."

"Where's m' bike? I can't waste anymore time." She slipped to one side, moving down along the wall. The bros moved with her, keeping her path to the exit blocked casually. Charley blinked in confusion.

"Why don't you tell us how you know us." Vinnie finally found voice for his thoughts, blocking the Mouse's exit with a well-timed arm. His other hand, clenched into a fist at his side, just waited for an excuse to act. Modo caught his breath, preparing to intervene.

"You're the three biggest names in the Freedom Fighters," she answered coolly, studying the red-eyed glare from the white Mouse. "You've also got wanted posters up in every Plutarkian ops center on Earth."

Modo whistled low, impressed. Charley took Vinnie's hand off the wall, and convinced him with a few elbows to move back. Throttle patted his shoulder as he gestured the girl toward one of the folding chairs.

"Sounds like you've got a story to share, miss."

"It's Ricochet." She took hold of the chair from behind, but didn't sit down. She leaned forward slightly, fingers tightening white-knuckled against the back of the chair. "I need t' go…" She swallowed, glanced away, before summoning the words and continuing. "My sister's been taken, captured. She's hurt."

"Whose Plutarkian tail do we get to kick?" Throttle grinned, but that faded as soon as Rico began to shake her head.

"Aye, there's th' rub. Steel wasn't taken by Plutarkians. Or any other species under official contact."

Throttle glanced back at his bros, to find them both watching intently. He gestured to Charley that he'd explain in a minute, before turning back to Ricochet. "Then who?"

"Humans." Her eyes dropped as she admitted it. "We slipped up. Pouligny was better guarded than we'd figured. Before I got out of th' hot zone, Steel'd been picked up by FBI agents." Ricochet's fingers drummed for a moment on the back of the chair, before she pushed herself away once more. "Look. I don't have time t' explain. She's been taken t' someplace in Washington D.C. You are the only Mice with human contact on a regular basis. I either do this myself, or I get help."

Before Throttle could answer, Charley grabbed his arm and his attention. Leaning down to her, he listened as she whispered fervently in his ear. "She's the one! She just admitted to killing Pouligny!"

Throttle laid a hand on Charley's arm, trying to placate her as he watched the Mouse begin to shake her head. When she looked up, it was Vinnie she locked eyes with, not Throttle. A flicker of something unreadable passed over her features, forcing Vinnie unconsciously to straighten up. Releasing Charley, Throttle moved to intercept Ricochet before she could possibly leave.

"Wait, just, answer me one question." She paused at his request, crossing her arms and cocking a hip to wait. Glancing back at his bros, Throttle cleared his throat. "The string of murders..."

"All Plutarkians. Every last one o' 'em." Ricochet answered just as smoothly. "The humans are gonna be pushed into contact, whether they like it or not. They just need to see the bad guys first."

"Now that's twisted," Charley spoke up.

"It's the truth." Ricochet defended instantly, before Charley got anything else out. "What's th' first thing that humans do when confronted with something beyond their normal scope o' reality? Shoot first, ask questions later. It's all over the news if you just open your eyes t' see it."

A heartbeat of silence descended over the garage. Modo's eye traveled over the bunch of them, before he whistled softly. "You're setting the humans against the Plutarkians... the humans are going to finish the war."

Ricochet nodded quietly. "And when the Plutarkians are wiped out by th' humans superior numbers, we can go back home to Mars."


	3. Chapter 3

**Labyrinth**

**Chapter Three**

"Through here, Dr. Silver." the agent escorting her had been nothing but civil and pleasant over the entire process. He had introduced himself as 'Rammer, James Rammer,' when he had arrived at her office at the ungodly hour of four in the morning. "Watch your step, ma'am." He warned softly as she brushed by him. Silver thought he cut a dashing 007-style image in his tailored suit and sunglasses. It was all well and cute, except he had taken her away from her work. She still had ten more forms to fill out before Pouligny's body would be released to her for autopsy.

"I'm still not sure what this is all about, Agent Rammer," Silver murmured as she waited patiently for him at the bottom of the stairwell. "I'm sure that Uncle Sam really wants me to figure out the details of Pouligny's assassination before he goes jumping to conclusions."

"I'm not at liberty to discuss the case, ma'am." Rammer swallowed slightly, before he leaned forward to punch in a code at the next door. "I'm only supposed to bring you to Sergeant Mikalson."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Silver sighed softly and fixed her lab jacket so it settled better around her shoulders. "It's normal Bureau policies. At least, you've been a better conversationalist than my last three escorts." Silver smiled, brightly for a moment, and she could have sworn that Rammer's ears began to color red.

After a final set of doors, Rammer held the final portal open until Silver entered before him. Richard Mikalson stood before an expansive map of the United States. A few dozen colored pins were stuck here and there, in strategic locations. Silver recognized the locations. Eight of the most influential people in the States had been murdered. Companies were in turmoil, and entire state economies were collapsing because of the deaths. In five of the eight cases, Silver's own autopsy reports had been rejected by the personal physicians of the deceased.

She suspected it was because of the truth.

Mikalson was a severe-looking man. He'd seen more war than Silver could count on her one hand. A ring of gray hair capped his head, and his face was deeply lined with worry and stress. He wore the dress blues of a Marine, and the medals on his chest clinked softly together as he turned to regard Silver. The slip of a woman waited patiently to be acknowledged, while Rammer lingered by the door, standing at attention.

"Doctor Silver." Mikalson gestured to a seat, bidding her to take it. He settled himself down as she did, taking a moment to follow her gaze to the giant map. "Impressive, isn't it? We haven't had a crime spree this wide and far-reaching since the Zodiac killer. You are the key to cracking this, Doctor."

"Me?" Silver pointed at herself, disbelieving for a moment. "You mean my autopsy reports? But they were destroyed. Rejected."

The sergeant began to shake his head. His hand dropped below the desktop, and the scrape of a drawer opening filtered through the silence. Placing the five manila folders upon the desktop, he laid his hand heavily atop them. Silver eye's widened and she scooted forward in her chair. "Agent Rammer is going to be permanently assigned to your well-being from here on out. St. Pouligny's body is being transferred to a holding station in Arizona. Our suspect is already en route."

"Suspect?!"

Mikalson nodded gravely, and produced a small photograph from beneath a sheaf of papers. Sliding it across to the young doctor, he scowled at her surprise. Silver held the photo up to study it, narrowing her eyes and turning the image slightly. Her breath caught as she made out the features.

"We're hoping you can tell us what the hell is going on." Mikalson murmured.

* * *

"Can you tell me what this contact thing is all about?" Charley grabbed Throttle's arm before he could turn away.

"Official contact. It's like... a political thing. Complete with ambassadors, good will offerings, and all kinds of craziness." Throttle was packing. So were the other boys. Weapons, food, ammo, rockets, anything they could seem to fit onto or into their bikes. "Government's coming together and everything. Mars was getting ready to declare official contact with Earth when the Plutarkians descended on us." Throttle's hand shook for a moment, as some memory came sliding through him.

Charley drew back slightly. She tried to picture just how humanity as a whole would view not being alone in the universe. Part of her cowed, knowing that in some ways Ricochet's assessment of humanity had been right. Charley looked across the garage to the Mouse in question. Ricochet was kneeling by her motorcycle's flank, apparently running a diagnostic. The bike had been waiting patiently outside the garage when Ricochet had called for it by name.

Vinnie caught Charley's eye, so she joined the white Mouse by his bike. Placing her hand lightly on the small of his back, she let him know that she was standing close by. "She's freakin' me out, Charley-girl." At the stress in his voice, the human faltered on what to say. Vinnie kept going, even as he fixed an extra rocket to the chassis of his launcher. "It's like... I know what she's gonna say before she says it. And she keeps looking at me."

Charley had noticed the latter part. "Don't worry about it, Vinnie." Patting his shoulder gently, she noticed that her rain gear was neatly folded atop his rear seat. "She said you guys were something like celebrities, didn't she?"

Vinnie nodded, mute for a moment as he thought that over. "She's star-struck?" The meek observation was almost too quiet, too frightened. After a moment, he'd obviously convinced himself of that truth, and squared his shoulders. "Yeah, she's dazzled by my good looks." Chuckling to himself, he reached around Charley for another rocket, never thanking her for explaining it.

The human began to shake her head in disbelief, always astounded by how quickly the white Mouse's ego rebounded. She reached out to take her rain gear, wondering if the boys were going to actually let her go on this particular excursion. As she raised her eyes, she found Ricochet waiting quietly a respectful distance away. There was something pensive and almost remorseful as the Mouse's lavender eyes traced the sleek lines of Vinnie's bike.

"Can I help you with something?" Charley asked, jolting the Mouse out of her reverie.

"Sorry, Ms. Davidson. Is there a phone I could use?" Ricochet was so polite when talking to her, a complete change from the tone of voice she used with the rest of the Mice. Confused, Charley motioned for her to follow, and led the Mouse into the back office. "Thanks," Ricochet breathed as she sunk down into Charley's computer chair. "This won't take but a moment."

Charley retreated, but only to the door. Easing it closed behind her, she left just enough of a crack so she could lean close. Who would the Mouse be calling? It wasn't like the phone was connected to some intergalactic line. There was quiet in the office, until Ricochet let out an explosive sigh.

"Thank th' spirits, Howie. You need t' get a new safehouse, as soon as we're done here."

Charley blinked. _Howie? Safehouse?_ Crinkling her brow she leaned closer to the door.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Keep your eye on the lines... I know where she was last, any updates? Good." Ricochet fell silent, and the low staccato rhythm of tapping fingers filled the quiet. "Move out. I'll get you on a secure line next time. Promise."

Charley darted away from the door as those words slipped from Ricochet's mouth. Moving over to Throttle, she lay her rain gear down on the table beside him, and attempted to look like she'd been there for a long time. Throttle arched a brow at her, curious to know what she'd overheard. Holding up a finger, Charley bid him to wait, just as Ricochet shouldered her way past the door and back to her bike.

"We can't waste more time," she pleaded. "It's a twelve hour drive to the facility that the humans are holdin' Steel in."

She said nothing more as she swung her helmet atop her head, and tossed her leg over her bike.


	4. Chapter 4

**Labyrinth**

**Chapter Four**

"Oh. My. God..." Dr. Silver moved forward. She was really here; this place really existed. Area 51. The holy grail of every single conspiracy theory in the entire world. Agent Rammer was just as dumbstruck as she was, staring around at the surroundings without a single word to describe them. The entire facility was underground, accessed through a small hatch in the floor of a mock house. In the middle of the desert....

Rammer pushed the rack containing a few months worth of clothes, and all the equipment Silver believed that she could possibly need. The pristine main hall echoed their footsteps back to them, while an older man in a lab coat directed them to their quarters. The rules of the place were strict. No off-site contact, no viewing of the classified information outside of the project they had been requested for, and for the duration of the project, they would be remaining on premises. Rammer could think of worse fates than to be trapped in an underground building with Dr. Silver. She'd proven nothing but to be an engaging, funny lady in the time he'd known her. He could only hope that she thought the same of him.

As they approached their designated living space, the rack was taken from him by members of the janitorial service. The janitors secreted the luggage away inside the rooms, while the locking mechanisms were demonstrated to the visitors. Dr. Silver was practically vibrating with excitement when she was offered a tour of the lab facility.

Following their guide down the hall, Silver finally turned to her FBI protector. "Is this not amazing?"

Rammer chuckled. "It's way beyond me," he confessed after a moment. The hallways weren't completely empty; they passed perhaps ten other scientists moving on their way to and from rooms. When they finally drew up before Lab 1597, the guide handed Silver a key card. Leaning forward, she swiped it, causing the door to hiss, depressurize, and slowly slide open. The guide departed once the door had slid open, leaving the two of them to exchange a glance.

Silver ventured inside first. Her first thought was that the lab was perfect. A bank of microscopes lined the left wall. A door on the right wall led further into a culture room with incubation ovens and racks of Petri dishes. Four benches dominated much of the floor, three of them equipped with at the very least, a sink, and a Bunsen burner. The fourth lab bench was built with a vice clamp and a toolbox. Curiously, Rammer inspected the tools within, only to bridle when he came across bonesaws. Glancing to Silver who was emerging from the culture room, Rammer turned to the back wall to see what had caught her attention so raptly.

The apparatus was perhaps twelve feet in height. A bank of buttons and read-outs blinked steadily on its side, but the dominant feature was a giant glass tube. As Rammer stared, he became increasingly aware of the steady hiss and blow of an oxygen pump. A body floated in the center of the tube, hued slightly green by the heavily saline bio-fluid.

"Is... that thing female?" The words came out of his mouth before he could even realize he said them. But the inert form had all the physical attributes of being female. If she hadn't been covered in thick, black fur, Rammer may have hazarded that she had a smoking body with a set of hips to die for. Equally as off-putting as the fur were the two satellite-dish shaped ears extending from the sides of her head. Most of her face was covered with the breathing and feeding tube. While Rammer stood back in disgust, Silver had approached to press her hands and face against the glass.

"Look..." she whispered breathlessly. "At her arm..."

Rammer forced himself to focus. The ... thing's right arm was burnt, living flesh had been sizzled away from the majority of the hand. Amazingly, the bones beneath seemed to be untouched, where they appeared from between the bits of charred sinew and muscle, they gleamed. Almost like... "Metal?"

Looking up again at the body, Rammer tried to fathom the implications this thing held in the tank.

* * * * * * * *

Ricochet led the pack. She kept her tail tightly wound around her waist, and to any quick set of eyes, she appeared completely normal at sixty miles per hour. The four trailing behind her in a loose V-formation kept their own counsel, and gave the Mouse plenty of headway. She had never asked for their communication frequency, so Throttle could only suppose that she didn't want to talk at all.

"She's familiar, man, that's all I'm sayin'." Modo sighed, glancing away from the road to Throttle beside him for just a split second. "Familiar, like, I've heard of her somewhere."

"I think we're all being paranoid. Right now, she's just a Mouse in need, and we've gotta help. If I were in her position, I'd do the same for either one of you."

"Awww, bro, thanks." Vinnie chimed in. He'd been quiet thus far, a fact Charley was beginning to get worried about. "But... I can't believe I'm saying this... Modo's right. I know her." He trailed off, while the others waited respectfully. Vinnie shook his head, trying to dismiss the notion.

"What do you mean?" Charley urged him gently, easing her bike slightly toward him so the V turned into a diamond shape. "How do you know her?"

Everyone was silent, waiting for his answer. Vinnie tried, but found he couldn't articulate it. The words came out simply as a growl of frustration. He grabbed the clutch on his bike and revved his engine into a high-pitched whine. At the lead, Ricochet glanced back, and began to ease onto the shoulder of the highway. She pulled to a halt beneath an overpass, and waited beside her bike for the others.

Vinnie lost his nerve as soon as they stopped. The questions just wouldn't come out right. They jammed in the back of his throat with nettles, and got tangled around his tongue. Charley gave perfect timing to a wide yawn, and Throttle's mind lit up with an idea.

"We need to rest soon," he told Ricochet, gesturing to the setting sun. "Charley-girl's not like us; she can't just keep going."

Ricochet reached up and disengaged her face-shield. Throttle found himself unsettled by the lavender gaze, like she was reaching down into the very depths of his soul and tugging at bits of him he didn't want to uncover. He shifted nervously under her scrutiny.

"Sure." She agreed finally, turning her head back toward the road. "There's a motel jus' off th' interstate ahead. We'll stop there." She reengaged her face-shield just before a tractor trailer rumbled by. Revving the engine of her chopper, she waited for Throttle to mount back up.

"You heard her?" Throttle asked as he got back to his bike. A chorus of agreement followed, lacking only Vinnie's voice. Glancing at the youngest of them, Throttle caught him staring; the slim gray Mouse was returning his gaze. But there was something about the way she sat, a cant to her head, and a slump to her shoulders, that gave her a lingering air of sadness.

It was only another two miles to the motel. As they each pulled their bikes up into spaces, Ricochet waved Charley over. She pressed a pair of fifties into the human's hand, and indicated the office with a sweep of her helm. Charley tucked her helmet under her arm, and sallied forth. After nearly ten minutes, she emerged, but only with one room key. As Ricochet took the wad of change from Charley, the No-Vacancy sign flickered to life in the office's window.

"Self explanatory, huh?" Charley tried to joke, shrugging slightly as the boys exchanged glances with each other. While Charley showed the boys the room, Throttle hung back, watching the Mouse out of the corner of his shades. She nodded and began walking across the parking lot; her chopper beeped softly and took up a parking place beside the other bikes. Throttle's motorcycle did the same, except, silently. His AI knew better.

It wasn't too long before the two of them were standing in the shadow of the motel. Throttle pulled his helmet off first, shaking out his hair with an expectant sigh. Ricochet took longer; she checked around first, assuring herself that they were alone. As she pulled off her helmet, she avoided looking directly at Throttle.

"I want some explanations." He said quietly. "Why do I know you?" In the dim light, he could see her clearly; she appeared guilty of some crime he couldn't name. He had a brief image of a Mouse with gray fur bending over him.

"B'cause m'sister and I hauled your tails outta Limburger Tower once."

Throttle closed his eyes. He hated remembering that day. He believed he'd lost Vinnie at more than one point in those short twenty-four hours. But closing his eyes made the memories stronger. Two figures framed by a glowing circle. Something about thermite. "Who are you?" Throttle whispered.

"Second Lieutenant Ricochet, S.N. Dee-one-zero-one-five-Omega."

_Army!_ Throttle knew the lingo. She was giving nothing more than her name, rank and code number for her assault team. He didn't recognize the particular S.N code but knew his earlier assumptions of her being a marksman were right on the money. Pulling his specs off, Throttle rubbed the bridge of his muzzle. "That doesn't really answer my question."

She straightened up a little, her spine stiffening at the implications his tone carried. She shook her head, holding her ears back in a defensive manner. Her nose twitched momentarily. "Sorry, Throttle." she murmured. "S'all I can tell you right now."

She raised her helmet, signaling the end of the talk. But Throttle pushed, going out further on a limb. "Look, General Carbine would vouch for my position. You can tell me."

Ricochet paused and lowered her helmet slightly. Over the uppermost curve, she fixed him with her violet eyes. "I know exactly who Carbine is t' you. And frankly, I don't give a rat's bolthole that ya got somethin' with her. 'Sides, she knows nothing of this op, or us..." Ricochet pulled her helmet on in one smooth motion, pushing aside Throttle's outstretched hand as he tried to stop her.

"Are you AWOL?" he called softly after her retreating shape.

She turned, pausing for a moment, while Throttle got his own helmet on, and responded to her communication ping. She remained poised across from him for a few moments. "No," came her soft response. "We're dead."


	5. Chapter 5

**Labyrinth**

**Chapter Five**

Throttle watched her retreating shape as she crossed the parking lot. There was something more, something much bigger, going on here than he first realized. This was more than he expected. More than he knew how to cope with. A marksman team, presumed dead, shows up on Earth and systematically starts eradicating the Plutarkians. What was he missing? It just wasn't adding up right in his head. On that hot July day, he had looked at the two females as avenging angels, rescuing them from a fate that only the spirits could fathom. What wasn't he remembering about that day?

The door to the motel room closed with a loud click behind Ricochet, jolting Throttle out of his attempted reverie. Crossing the parking lot in quick, ground-eating strides, he found the door opened by Charley even before he reached for it. She smiled softly, stepping aside to let him in. There were two beds in the small motel room, and a single glass door led to an even smaller patio off the back. Modo had already thrown an armload of blankets on the floor between the two beds, while Charley's jacket and helmet claimed one of them. Ricochet hadn't even stopped to listen to the argument Vinnie was having with Modo about just who was going to get the other bed. She cut through to the small door in the back, and left it dangling open as she pulled a patio lounger up against the wall.

Throttle leaned in the doorway to watch Ricochet shuck out of her jacket. Wadding it up at the head of the flattened lounger, she tucked her helmet beneath it, but left her hand resting up on the upper curve. Her other hand she folded over her stomach, fingers curled loosely around the grip of a human-made revolver. She didn't even spare him a glance as she settled back and closed her eyes.

Throttle slipped back inside the motel room, and thwapped Vinnie upside the back of his head. "Sleep in the bed, you baby," he tried to tease, as light-hearted as he could. Vincent pouted, scowling, as he rubbed the back of his head. At a slight point from Modo, Throttle found the linen closet and threw a few blankets of his own on the floor, near the door. Nothing would get inside the door without waking Throttle up first. With a flick of his tail he killed the lights, and stretched out on his back slowly. It was going to be a restless night.

* * * * * * * *

"_Fix this, please..." he begged. He knew he would get down on his knees, and grovel if he had to. He needed to see trees again. Needed to see the Great Lakes glinting in the sun. He'd never realized how much it meant to him, Earth in all Her beauty and glory, until he was forced to look at the world ravaged. And now, all he could do was beg._

_Beg the girl with the beautiful eyes. Draw her close with a hopeful glance, lean down to whisper in her ear. "You have to. Please..." He had never meant something so strongly. Never felt a conviction this heart-breaking. When she drew away, she was a blurred streak of motion, all except for her eyes. Words echoed around him, things he couldn't feel the meaning of. Sense came to his hand, in the feel of the smooth grip of a laser pistol._

_He turned, through the fog, away from the girl with the beautiful eyes. The landscape there glowed almost painfully, brilliant and blue, harsh and garish, like the surface of this ravaged land. But there, amid it all, rose a figure tall and striking. A streak of red hair leaped into focus, even as his fear tripled. He knew what he had to do. To make the girl with the beautiful eyes leave, he had to kill his best friend's nephew. To his horror, his hand hardly shook as he raised his pistol._

Vinnie woke with a start, tangled in the sheets and panting hard. His heart felt like a jackhammer trying to escape from inside his ribs. Kicking his feet, he struggled out of the sheets and pushed himself up into a sitting position.

Air. He needed air. Even as he lurched for the half-open patio door, the horror of his dream was already fading, leaving half-remembered glimpses, and lies that simply couldn't have happened. Leaning against the door frame, he took deep cleansing gulps of air. His dreams were sporadic; almost nightmares really that had plagued him since the Plutarkian invasion of Mars. They always had a source though, he'd learned. Some trauma visited upon him at the hands of scientists; or some horror he had seen during the war. It was always... something.

As he felt his heart rate begin to drop, Vinnie chanced a glance around. She was sleeping peacefully on the patio lounger, one hand curled around a pistol. For a moment, he felt jealous. Jealous that she was so peaceful while he was visited by nightmares. His bare feet were silent as he crossed over, to kneel beside her.

It felt so familiar...

He lifted a hand and reached out, starting the motion to brush her hair from her eyes. He stopped himself however. Straightening up, he loomed over her, another thought crossing his mind. He could make her tell him the truth... But what good would that do? He'd probably just regret it in the end. Clenching his jaw, Vinnie turned, and went back inside. He laid down, even though he knew he wasn't going to sleep again.

Outside, once Ricochet heard him leave her side, she allowed her eyes to open. Into the darkness, she heaved a short sigh. He had saved her, hadn't he? He was the reason she existed to help this green Earth. Wasn't he? She shivered as the thought struck her: _Why can't I just forgive him?_

* * * * * * * *

"To all external appearances, the subject appears to be an... evolved specimen of the _mus musculus_ species. DNA samples have been acquired and are awaiting culture and coding for comparison to known genome specifications." Dr. Silver paced as she dictated quietly into the hand-held recorder. "The subject has sustained heavy damage upon acquisition, and will remain in the nutrient bath until contagion testing is completed. Human levels of sedation appear to be applicable, and well as effective."

She glanced up, as Rammer reentered the lab. He carried with him two large paper bags. Lunch time for the good doctor. Setting the bags down on the counter, he returned her welcoming smile with one of his own. Silver held up a hand to signal for him to wait as she finished her thoughts.

"The subject appears to be female, however, there are a number of inorganic additives to her body. The most noticeable of these is the lower left arm. Nearly all the organic tissue has been burnt or otherwise removed, revealing an infrastructure unlike any I've seen before. X-rays revealed the inorganic nature of the bone structure is repeated throughout the host body. Each of the subjects legs from the hip joint down have been replaced with artificial prosthetics. Further research into those appendages is required."

She clicked off the recorder and settled down into a chair across from Rammer.

"Anything new, Doc?" He asked, unwrapping his ham sandwich with zeal.

"Please, call me Haley." She dove into the bag he got her with a glance back at the vat. "Nothing substantial. I don't think I'll be able to tell anything serious until I can get her out of that vat. And I can't bring her out of there until I make sure she's not carrying any... microbes." Silver peeled back tinfoil, and fairly purred at the scent of hot pastrami on rye. "You didn't have to get me lunch, Agent Rammer."

"It's James," he teased gently. "And yes, I had to. You didn't seem like you were going to break for lunch anytime soon."

Haley didn't answer right away; she let herself enjoy the sandwich. He was right of course, she'd only been at this for twelve hours without a break. Maybe when this was all done, she could convince Ram-- James that he owed her a nice dinner on the town. She glanced in his direction, only to find him watching her expectantly. Silver blushed, and turned her gaze back to the vat.

"This ranks right up there with the autopsies for weirdness factor," she mused between bites. First fish-people, now a mouse-woman. What was next? Cat-people?

"What did all that jargon mean?" Rammer asked with a wave toward the recorder. "That she's not all organic?"

"She's like some kind of a cyborg. Metal bits scattered all over her system. There are wires connected directly into the spinal cord, and every x-ray I try to take of her head just comes back solid. I need a CT scan to check out the size of her brain." Haley started to put down her sandwich, but Rammer caught her arm before she could stand up.

"Oh, no you don't. You eat." He gave her a pointed glare. "Maybe we should talk about something other than work, huh?"

Haley remained poised on the edge of her stool, torn between diving back into the mystery, or chatting with Rammer for a few more minutes. After a moment, she broke into a smile, and settled back down. "Alright then, why don't you tell me about your family? Wife? Kids?"

Rammer sank back and rubbed the back of his neck. "Wife couldn't put up with the FBI demands, so... she split. Took my boy with her. It's been just me for about two years now."

"I'm so sorry!" Haley's face fell, distraught that she'd brought up old ghosts. "I didn't mean--"

"It's fine. It's the past, honestly. Not much I can do about it now." Rammer tried to think of something else to say, but ended up staring at the vat himself. He could have sworn he saw it move. Something in his face must have changed, because Haley fell silent in her apologies. Slowly, she turned to look as well.

The subject floating in the vat was watching them. Her eyes, over the breathing mask, were open, revealing slits of glowing blue. She turned her head slightly, as though one eye were better than the other to watch them with. Rammer grabbed Haley's hand again as she rose. The motion broke the silent pall in the air, and the subject curled her right hand into a fist. The mouse raised it, bending at the elbow, pivoting at the shoulder. The fist came forward, and thunked dully into the thick ballistic glass separating her from the humans.

Something on the apparatus clicked and whirred. The black furred fist slackened and those glowing blue eyes drifted closed once more. Rammer came quickly around the edge of the counter to stand beside Silver. He realized she was trembling, and he gently slipped an arm over her shoulders to comfort her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Labyrinth**

**Chapter Six**

Charley volunteered to stay behind. D.C at night was eerie enough without her partaking in a breaking and entering felony into a federal building. She was still having heart palpitations over what she was going to do, should the boys get captured. At her insistence, the bikes had been staked out at the shadowy end of a parking garage. She promised she would wait, either, until the Martian responded to the Mice's calls, or the quartet sauntered back victorious.

Ricochet led the way, following directions from a hand-held GPS system. She bore a coil of rope and a grapple taken from a saddlebag on her bike, while the boys simply carried their weapons. Modo, being the only naturally quiet Mouse, was the only one to notice the strange pall that affected both of his bros. It had been growing since this morning in directly relation to how close to D.C their rides were taking them.

The silver-furred Mouse stopped them at an intersection and gestured down one of the streets. The building she indicated looked pretty formidable; a solid block of concrete crouched amid a barbed wire fence. Throttle seemed to take it all in, checking all the visible defenses to formulate a plan.

"No watch towers." He mused softly.

"Camera's prol'ly." Ricochet countered. "An' th' flood lights are motion sensitive."

Modo caught on. It was a delicate dance, feeling each other out. "The floods are all along the sides, though. Won't do much to light up the corners." He pointed over Throttle's shoulder, missing the tan Mouse's grin of approval as Ricochet's brow arched, impressed.

She turned slightly, to find Vinnie watching her with a disconcerting intensity. Her thought died on her tongue, even as she boldly met his gaze. It was a few heart beats to recover, but it was a crucial pause, just long enough that Modo took notice.

"Vinnie," she spoke his name to focus herself, pointing at his bandoliers. "We approach on the angle. You'll cut us a hole. We'll go up the corner, and in from the top. My intel says second floor, room 20."

"Your intel?" Throttle's antennae perked forward, the curiosity making them quiver slightly. While Vinnie snapped one of his fusion flares free, Modo stalled just long enough to hear Ricochet's soft response.

"You have your human... I have mine." It came with a soft laugh, a melancholy sound that carried no amusement. She let Throttle chew that thought over as she jogged forward to the hole Vinnie already had cut through the fence. Throttle and Modo exchanged a glance, before bolting to catch up.

"Are human's just tools to you?" Throttle hissed as she held the fence flap back for him.

Ricochet shook her head. "Not anymore," she confessed when met with Modo's one-eyed glare.

"But they used to be?" he asked, as his mechanical arm easily held the fence for her. She didn't answer right away, crossing the open ground to the wall in silence. As she uncoiled her rope, she seemed lost in thought for a few moments.

"Yeah," she grunted, tugging on the knot for security. She began to swing the grapple beside her, the blades whistling softly in the air. Releasing it, she let the line play out through her hands until it went slack. "When m'sis and I first got here... humans were a tool. A weapon, y'know? T'be used against the Plutarkians." She began to tug on the rope, until it caught and pulled taut.

Throttle took the rope first, yanking on it hard to test his weight. "So you two hatched up this 'official contact' scheme?"

"It was Steel's idea, really," Ricochet informed him with a shrug. Throttle couldn't find an answer for her, instead, he started to climb. Modo came up next and took the rope. She cowed slightly under the look he fixed her, somewhere between a glare and a calculating stare. Modo closed his eye and sighed.

"Your sister... she my height? Black fur?"

Rico's heart skipped a beat, her eyes narrowed. But she nodded. "You know her?"

Modo shook his head, and looked roofward. The muscles of his jaw were tight and tense as he started to climb. Ricochet stared after him, chewing on her lower lip. Did they really remember? Or was it like a dream coming back to them? She felt increasingly like this was a big mistake.

Vinnie watched her, looking up the rope. He fought to find words as his eyes traced the curve of her neck. He wanted to say something, but his tongue just stuck to the roof of his mouth. His bros would laugh if they had been watching. The resident ladies man: tongue-tied near a pretty girl. It seemed inevitable, but eventually Ricochet caught him staring. Her expression softened, and she reached out to pat his un-masked cheek. However, she never touched him, coming close, but just hesitating.

"It's okay," she tried to offer him a smile, but that too faded before it ever happened. "I fixed it."

The words hit Vinnie like a freight train, stunning him. By the time he'd shaken himself out of it, there was only the flick of a silvery tail left to speak to. She scaled the rope like she was born to, hand over hand. The panic fled his body as he saw her pulled over the side of the building by his bros. Frantically, he leapt up, grabbing the rope and hauling himself up with the same agility she had shown. By the time he reached the top, all traces of the softness had left Ricochet, while she focused on a roof hatch instead.

Floundering for a moment, Vinnie found his adrenaline rush misread by the very guys who knew him best. Throttle assured him quietly that there had to be things to shoot coming up soon. Vinnie sputtered and stared at the female Mouse who paid him no further attention. What had she fixed? Why was that so important to him!?

Modo lent his arm to opening the hatch, after Ricochet rewired the alarm system attached to it. Soon enough they were dropping down into the uppermost hallway, into still, quiet corridors. Ricochet paused to listen, and wasn't disappointed. The building was silent, and at this crack hour of the morning, it probably meant that only the security guard had any chance of being awake.

Heading two steps down the hallway, she found a side exit to a stairwell. She waited a few seconds to be sure the three boys were following her, before she ducked down the stairwell. She was nearly silent, pattering down the stairs quickly. Behind her, Modo took the stairs two at a time, while Vinnie brought up the rear. She counted off levels as she moved, praying that Howie's information would prove to be right. He'd never failed them before. Upon reaching the second level, she eased the door open slightly, peering out into the hallway. She waited until the bros had all reached the landing, before quietly sliding her revolver from her shoulder holster.

Throttle had a brief moment to wonder why she was using Terran technology, as he drew his laser to signal his readiness. Modo flexed his right arm, and Vinnie nodded. Ricochet closed her eyes for a moment, before she pulled the door halfway open to slip into the hallway. She hugged the wall, and padded quietly ahead. Throttle counted off the doors as they moved past. Room 18, Room 19. Finally, they came to a stop before the door bearing the Room 20 placard. Testing the door, she found it locked. Pulling the hammer back on her revolver she took a step back.

Modo grabbed her shoulder before she could fire. Shaking his head briefly, he rested his left hand on the gun, forcing her to lower it. With a soft whirr, the laser cannon housing rose from his bionic appendage, and he pointed it toward the lock. She understood even before he fired the weapon. The laser was a soft hiss, melting the metal without much noise. She slowly released the lever on her revolver, holstering the noisy weapon. After a few seconds of laser burn, Modo pushed the door open easily.

"After you, ma'am," he whispered gesturing her ahead of him graciously.

Ricochet hesitated a moment. Her lavender eyes connected with Modo for a second; he swore he saw fear reflected there. Then she straightened her back, and dove into the dark room. The boys filtered in behind her, and felt around on the walls for a light switch. Throttle found it, sending the room into a moment of flickering light before it stabilized into a steady fluorescent burn.

Ricochet stood silent in the center of the room, her shoulders stooped. Glancing around, the bros saw the room was completely bare. The medical reek of antiseptic and bleach stung their noses, as the lights warmed up, and brightened into an all-too-familiar glare. Ricochet moved suddenly, stepping over to a stainless steel slab in one corner of the room. Her fingertip barely had grazed the surface when she began to shake.

Throttle and Modo exchanged looks. The girl's hand curled into a fist, than she used to strike the table. Modo put his hands up in a helpless shrug; he had no idea what to do next. Ricochet tipped her head toward the ceiling, to help stem the flow of frustrated tears. Her chest hurt with the desperate urge to cry. Suddenly a pair of arms folded around her, closing her off from the world at large. His hands smoothed her hair back, while she shifted her gaze past her own reflection, to the worried eyes behind the mask.

"Hey, sweetheart, don't cry... please," Vinnie found the words easily, catching a stray tear with his thumb and wiping it away. "We'll find her... _we'll fix this_."


	7. Chapter 7

**Labyrinth**

**Chapter Seven**

Ricochet planted her hands flat against Vinnie's chest, and shoved him away. Filled with conflicting emotions, she reacted instinctively, distancing herself from the situation. Vincent remained standing where he stopped, his arms half open, empty. He waited in uncharacteristic silence, for the silver-furred Mouse to say anything at all. Poised on the edge of action, Modo waited to intercede if things got... out of hand.

Throttle checked the door. "Guys, I hate to break the mood, but... we're about to have company." Footsteps were approaching.

Ricochet picked her head up. Her eyes narrowed to slits, and her ears drew back as she turned her sorrow into anger. "Good." She moved toward the door, pressing her back up against the wall beside it. Motioning to the boys, she got them to join her, lining the walls. She pushed the door completely closed, holding it there. With the lock melted, it swung open too easily. With a flick of his tail, Modo killed the lights. They waited in darkness while the footsteps drew closer. In the darkness their eyes adjusted quickly, until the faintest outlines of each others bodies could be seen. The door began to swing open, the darkness pierced by a ray of light from the hallway.

No sooner had the human guard stuck his head and flashlight into the room, did Ricochet react like lightning. She knocked the light from his hand with a quick chop to the wrist, then grabbed the guard's collar and hauled him bodily inside. Surprisingly strong for such a slim creature, Rico slammed the guard's back against the door, closing it completely and plunging the room into darkness once more.

"Where is she?" Rico growled, banging the guard back against the door.

"Hey!" Modo began to protest the rough treatment, but found his way blocked by an arm. Throttle gave the big guy's bicep a squeeze.

"Let her blow off steam," he whispered.

The guard whimpered and sputtered something intelligible.

"Not good enough," Ricochet's voice held a dangerous note. "Tell me where she is, or I'm gonna peel yer skin off one layer atta time."

Throttle shuddered, releasing Modo. Freed to uphold his values, the big Mouse moved in.

"I dunno!" the guard finally squeaked. "Top secret! Only brass was allowed in this room!"

Before Rico could draw breath for another threat, Modo's steel hand clamped down on her arm. "Let the fella go. He's tellin' the truth."

Ricochet was shaking under his grasp. He couldn't see her face clearly, but knew, just from the sound of her voice, that she was fighting against the tears again. "How do you know? They're so good at lying!"

The human whimpered again, squirming under Ricochet's grasp. Modo leaned in close, and kept talking to her, talking her down from whatever emotional rush she was carried by.

"Listen to him... listen to his voice... the guy's terrified. Let him be.. he's no threat to us." The tension began to ease out of Ricochet's arm, letting the guard sag until his feet touched the ground. She finally released him, and the man slumped down with a clatter. "C'mon kid, let's go."

Modo gave her a slight nudge, while Vinnie pulled the door open. For a moment, a shaft of light illuminated the Mice as they left one by one, leaving the guard shaking on the floor, disturbed and bewildered.

* * * * * * * * *

Pouligny's body had finally been released. Dr. Silver fairly bounced with the idea that someone would finally believe her findings; especially since no one, not even the French government, would be able to take the body away this time. She followed in the wake of the two lab techs who would assist her with the autopsy, as they led her through the labyrinthine corridors of Area 51. Rammer was typing up his daily report in the Library, and had promised to join her in the mortuary as soon as it was finished. Mikalson liked his reports on time, and complete.

The two lab techs seemed immune to Silver's joy, even as she hummed a happy little ditty as she scrubbed up. She tucked her mini-recorder into her breast pocket, even though the facility had a microphone set up over the operating slab. The elbow-length gloves were neon-green, made of a material stronger than latex. With her hair already wrapped up inside a cap, and a germ-mask in place, she stepped into the freezer-cold of morgue.

Pouligny's porcine body was already lying on the main slab. With a glance around, Silver assured herself that there were no other bodies around. Her odd fear of zombies cropped up now and again within the morgue, but she could usually concentrate around the strange fancies. One of the lab techs yanked off the covering and immediately took a step backward. Even through the mask, the stench of dead fish rolled up from the corpse.

Even Silver took half a step back. "Drop the temperature in the room another five degrees; get me some ice, and pack the body, please!" While the techs scrambled to obey, she turned both microphone's on, and began to dictate while she examined the body.

"Cause of death is, unfortunately, like all the others. A single large caliber bullet to the brain, destroying any chance I have of judging brain size, or relative intelligence. The body lacks the slimy, membranous outer layer, that previous subjects have retained after death. I can only assume that this is due to the body decay caused over the past few days." She smiled briefly, as the techs began to pack ice around the body.

"Body composition is like the others. Ninety-two percent or greater adipose tissue content. Body weight is well over one hundred ninety kilograms. Despite obvious head trauma, the same vestigial gills are locatable beneath the folds of flesh at the base of the skull." Sliding her thumbs into the sides of the wide mouth, Silver attempted to pry the jaw open. Glancing up, she motioned to one of the techs, the larger one, to come assist her. Between the two of them, they managed to break the rigor, and crack the lower jaw open. With a sigh, Silver straightened, retrieved a flashlight, and peered within.

"Dentition is parallel, once more, to species of _Pygocentrus piraya_, consisting of a singular row of tricuspid teeth, with the central cuspid the largest. Teeth are triangular in shape, and serrated. Carnivorous diet has been confirmed by stomach contents of other specimens." Silver straightened, stretching her back. Doing so, she caught sight of Rammer waving at her from the viewing room. Skipping over to the intercom, she pressed the button with her elbow.

"What's up?" she wondered, studying his concerned face.

"We just received word of a break-in at the prior holding facility," Rammer sounded breathless, but if he were scared, he hid the cues well. "A single guard was witness, and he swears he saw _four_ more creatures fitting the description of our subject. Mikalson's detaining him in D.C for further questioning."

Haley blinked, staring in mute astonishment.

"They spoke English, Haley...one of them asked... _Where is she?_" Rammer pressed his hand against the glass, while Silver looked back at the piscine corpse on the slab. How were they related? What was going on here?

She leaned on the intercom again. "Let... let me finish here..." Rammer nodded as she wandered away. Her face was pale and drawn as she nodded to the two techs. "Let's open him up." She waved absently at the fish-man.

* * * * * * * * *

Rammer didn't stick around to watch the dissection. With his message delivered, he could head back to the secure communications room to finish off his report. On his way, he stopped off in the lab. Haley had shown him with the infinite patience of a teacher, just how to check and regulate the temperatures of the incubation chamber. Supposed the cultures she had growing in there would tell them what sort of microbes were present upon the... overgrown mouse. He ducked into the side room without pausing to look at the creature in the tube.

It was creepy, really. The chatter in the cafeteria showed that most everyone working here hoped that the creature was of extraterrestrial origins. Rammer himself hoped it was only some sort of freak mutation, and the thing was really human under all that fur. He tapped the dials and tinkered with a loose cable for a second, before he satisfied himself that the readouts matched what Haley had shown him. He then stepped out into the main lab, and paused. Ice crawled up his spine.

He was being watched again.

Artificial canned air sucked at her lungs, forcing her to breathe through the pain. Steel's awareness expanded and contracted with her ribcage, ballooning out like some Julian fractal with never-ending repetitions, only to fold back upon itself a thousand-fold as she exhaled into the mechanical stench of the mask. What voices she could hear around her were muffled, heard through a great distance of glass and liquid. Pain ebbed and flowed as her overtaxed systems struggled to manufacture resistance to the drugs pumped into her body. Even the digital readout on the back of her eyelids warned her of her extremely fragile condition.

And yet, Steel continued to fight for her freedom. Her eyes open, struggling to focus past the distorting quality of the thick glass. Someone was staring back at her.. a dark blob of a man, wearing what could only be a suit of some sort. He moved closer, resolving slowly into a human male, curiosity and fear was written all over his face. He pressed one hand to the glass, hued green and flattened from her perspective.

Steel wanted her legs to kick, but a small red flash in the corner of her vision warned her of severed connections. Temporarily paralyzed, until she could get Rico to fix her up. Steel closed her eyes tightly, only to open them again a moment later. The man still stood at the glass, his face creeping ever closer. Beneath the mask, Steel grimaced. Her arm would respond. It would move. The metal-laced fingers of her right arm closed slowly into a fist. Her elbow bent; she wanted to pant with the exertion, but the steady rhythm of the breathing apparatus kept her from that. With one last groan of effort, she hit the glass.

The dull _ka-chink_ was not the impression she had been looking for.

Rammer jumped a mile. She'd hit the glass again! This time with her metal hand. That meant she was at least marginally functional. And the hand... Rammer let himself feel fear for about twenty seconds, before he began to back away. Two hostile responses already. He worried about that. Haley wanted to take the subject out of the tank. Could he even allow that? Would the pretty scientist hate him if he had to kill the mouse-creature to save her life?

Rammer backed away from the tank with a sigh of frustration. The thing seemed to have drifted back off into drugged oblivion. Really, it was best for her to stay that way.


	8. Chapter 8

**Labyrinth**

**Chapter Eight**

"LIMBURGER!"

Lawrence Lactavius Limburger had been snoring sonorously in the depths of blissful sleep. The barked command from Camembert abruptly turned the eighty voluptuous, voracious vixens of his dream into a hundred head of Plutarkian High Command, screaming at him. Limburger fell out of his chair onto the floor below. The impact of his weight cracked the plaster on the ceiling of the floor beneath his office, showing papery flakes down on Karbunkle's latest experiment.

Readjusting his mask, and scrambling to face the video screen, Limburger fought to stammer an apology. "Why, Lord Camembert, to what do I owe this dubious honor?" Finally, he managed to put back together his demeanor, tucking the last edge of his mask back in.

"Oh." Camembert peered down his stubby nose at the purple-suited fish before him. "You're still _alive_."

"You... er... sound disappointed?"

"I am. Here I was thinking I could finally replace you with someone competent. But apparently, you are even below the radar of the assassins plaguing that backwater little planet."

Limburger fiddled with his tie. Not only did he know who the assassins were, but he also knew that Camembert would never believe him should he be told. So, wisely, he thought, he kept his big flapping gills shut. Camembert watched him imperiously as the little fish fidgeted and grew increasingly restless.

"Hmmm, as you are the only Earthbound Plutarkian agent not currently involved in a race to save their own sorry, scaly hide, you get to do something for me." The evil grin that spread over Camembert's features was enough to chill Limburger's blood. Limburger's fidgeting stilled to a death pall, as he awaited his verdict.

"Find those assassins. And kill them."

Before Limburger could stammer out "Yes, Lord Camembert" the video link was cut off, and Limburger was left in the relative dimness of his office. Limburger took a few moments to gather himself back together, to straighten his suit, and his chair, before beginning to pace the floor. Finally, he settled himself back into his chair, and depressed the small button on his desk that would hydraulically lower his mass into the laboratory below.

Karbunkle seemed to be waiting for the moment, poised on the edge of his boots, wringing his hands together. "Yes, your cheddar cheesiness?"

"We've been tasked to find those infernal females." Limburger griped without prelude. Grasping the arms of his chair, he pulled his bulk back to his feet, and stepped down from the small platform. Limburger didn't even bother on avoiding Frank the Mutant, and gave the creature no thought as it cooed and purred for being trod upon. "Those two... time traveling terrors..."

Karbunkle remained silent as Limburger began to pace. In the destruction of the time travel device, Karbunkle's greatest and most prized possession, the Biker Mice had destroyed the only sample of isotope that could power the machine. It was still a sore spot in the scientists mind, and he stewed over the chance to get back at the nefarious pair who caused it all to fall apart.

"Karbunkle," Limburger's voice dropped an octave, as something brilliant occurred between his gills. "What we need is a team... a proven team. A group of nefarious ne'er-do-wells, who can function as one... A group of super-villains to counteract this group of super-heroes."

Karbunkle's face lit up, his naked brows waggling with furious agreement over his goggles. "Yes! Yes! I'll get right on it!" He crossed the laboratory in three strides, and instantly fell to searching through the database for just what Limburger wanted.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

It had taken a few hours, but Rammer had won the fight. They weren't taking the subject out of the nutrient bath until they could have an armed guard standing by just in case. It had woken up out of the sedation too many times to risk it. Especially after Dr. Silver couldn't tell him how many pounds of pressure those bionic limbs could exert, Rammer just got more and more adamant. Luckily, one of the resident engineers loaned her a prototype scanner. Having heard of the X-Ray difficulties she was having with her subject, he mentioned and brought forth a hand-held positron-electron annihilation scanner.

Delighted with the new acquisition, Silver immediately fell to work. Rammer remained nearby, while she calibrated the system, and waited for the sugar-bonding isotope to infiltrate the bionic Mouse-girl's body. She rambled on about how the system should work if the subjects tissues acted anything like a humans, and how she was worried about assuming too much. But as the first tomographic images projected to the laptop, Haley became increasingly excited.

"Look, each of the systems that connects to her lower spinal cord, continue upwards, married in with the nerve bundles all the way directly to her brain. I would almost say that functionally, her brain looks fundamentally human. Two hemispheres, large cortex surface. There seem to be a few dark spots... like, metal... maybe.. embedded in the cerebellum." Haley began to chew on her lower lip as she tried to keep her hand with the wand-like detector steady, and watch the images displayed on the laptop. She pointed for Rammer's benefit to a small square of black amid the whites, and grays on the screen.

"So, what's all this?" Rammer gestured to the specklings of black all across the screen. To him, it looked like a bunch of static.

Haley shook her head sadly. "I'm...not sure." She admitted that reluctantly, lowering the wand slowly. She watched the speckles remain steady across the screen, as she scanned through the subject's chest and down her left arm. As she scanned the reader over the subject's left hand, the screen became nearly opaque black. Rammer looked alarmed, as Haley faltered. "I need a new blood sample.." She murmured. "I think those... no.. wait, they couldn't be..."

She dropped the wand, and bolted forward, punching in the command sequence that would draw for her a sample of blood and tissue from the left ventral surface of the damaged arm. She moved like lightning, once the vial had dropped into the reclamation shoot. Placing a single droplet on a slide, she leaned over one of the microscopes, and stared. Rammer waited patiently for her verdict, but was unprepared for her soft exclamation.

"James, you have to see this..."

Reluctantly, Rammer took her place peering into the dual eyepieces. Nervously, he watched the jumble of sights before him, trying to make the best sense of it that he could. "What... exactly am I looking at?"

"The big red globs... those are hemoglobin molecules. They breathe oxygen, but at a much thinner concentration than Earth's atmosphere. You can tell because of the concentration of the red blood cells. All those little black things that are darting around..."

Silver paused, waiting for Rammer to indicate that he could see one. He stared intently, and almost a minute passed before he saw something zip across his field of vision. Unable to stop himself, he let off a gasp of air, as three, or four dozen more zipped on by.

"Those are _nanites_." Haley could hardly contain her excitement. Rammer straightened only to be grabbed by the shoulders and turned around. "Nanites! Do you know what this means?"

Rammer shook his head, more confused than anything else.

"If I can isolate a few of those things, I can probably replicate them. Those things are like tiny machines... they are actually _repairing_ the damage done to the subject, probably doubling, maybe even tripling her rate of healing!"

Rammer swallowed. Nanites. Cyborg soldiers. He glanced at the Mouse creature in the vat only to be stricken with inescapable fear. What if there are more of these things?

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Much to Charley's chagrin, the Mice decided to iron-man (or would that be iron-mouse) the entire 12 hour ride back to Chicago. Throttle claimed that they needed to regroup, and get a little research done on other possible places the United States government could have placed a Martian secretly. Ricochet hated the idea of being idle for even a few minutes, and already seemed to have a plan of her own tucked under her belt. Modo and Vinnie had remained uncomfortably quiet after the female's display of unfiltered aggression.

By the time they returned to the Last Chance Garage, they'd been up and active for nearly twenty-eight hours. Charley reminded them all that operating while exhausted wasn't going to help anyone at all; they all needed to get some rest. Especially Ricochet. Even thought the female refused to waver on her feet, she couldn't deny just how insanely tired she felt. When the bro's offered her a berth at the scoreboard for the night, she wanted to refuse.

It wasn't until much later, while listening to the soft snoring of three other Mice, that she realized how badly she needed this. They couldn't possibly remember anything of their time fighting in the Limburger-overtaken world. They were simple Mice, uncomplicated by greed, uncorrupted by avarice. They did only what had to be done... even when it meant killing someone once loved and trusted to ensure the future they needed to have.

_It had to be done_, she told herself again. _I can't hate him for that...._


	9. Chapter 9

**Labyrinth**

**Chapter Nine**

Ricochet had never felt so stupidly daring in her entire life. She left the boys sleeping on in the dead early hours of the morning. A low thick fog had rolled in over the city during the night, leaving the roads damp, clinging to her fur like hundreds of sparkling jewels. She stared up at the spire of Limburger Tower disappearing into the fog like a ghost. Sparkle idled silently in an alleyway across the street, ready to come to her rider's beck and call. Rico checked the load in her revolvers once more, before rolling her shoulders, and getting on with it.

Her body ached in protest as she began to carefully climb the outside wall of the tower. Spikes outfitted to her boots helped her inch her way up along seams between the concrete bricks. Window sills and small ledges gave her hands purchase as she moved along the outside edge. She had climbed taller buildings before, all in efforts to find the prime location for a single-shot takedown. But she'd never done so without her sister below her to catch her should she fall.

Operating without her safety net left Rico's heart hammering in her ears. She counted fifteen floors, before she found what she was looking for. A slightly open window, allowed to air out the Plutarkian stench, allowed her access to the interior of the building. Drawing the two revolvers, she took a deep breath, and murmured quietly to the spirits a prayer for her safety. Creeping through the darkened building didn't seem like any manner of problem. Like most Plutarkians, Limburger was so full of himself and his invulnerability that he lacked the security most human establishments would have taken.

Now all she had to do was follow the stench...

The trail kept leading upward. As she peered through the door from the stairwell to the twenty-fifth floor, she caught sight of something unexpected. Two guards dozed on either side of the doorway, leaned up casually against the walls, chins upon chests, snoozing blissfully. Crouching behind the door, Rico took hold of the handle and slowly turned it, easing the door open. It swung on silent hinges, pirouetting open so she could get a better look at the two sleeping goons.

Holstering her pistols, she rubbed her hands slightly together. Quick and silent. She knew the score. Stepping into the hallway, she grabbed the one on her left first. Wrapping her hand around his chin and mouth to keep him silent, and grabbing the back of his head with her other hand, she twisted violently, snapping the goon's neck in one smooth motion. He toppled from his chair in slow motion, falling to the floor with a dull thump. She caught the chair before it too clattered to the floor, but not quietly enough to prevent the other guard from wakening. He blinked, bleary-eyed for a moment, focusing on the dark figure before him.

He began to reach for a weapon before Rico could turn around. She reacted with her tail first, whipping it across his wrist with a stinging blow. She spun and lunged in the split second it took him to shake off the pain, bearing him down to the ground with a grunt. Kneeling on his chest, she pinned him to the ground with a well-placed knee to his groin, and proceeded to wrap her hands around his throat. She grimaced and snarled, leaning harder and harder into the struggling goon. He got his hand around a clump of fur, and yanked hard, almost causing her to yelp in pain. She landed another knee, this time to his stomach, driving what remained of his air out of his lungs.

Slowly, bit by bit, the guard ceased struggling. And yet, Rico still held on. She felt the hammering heartbeat slow steadily beneath her grip, and for long silent moments, argued with herself. Finally, she released the guard, finding herself breathing hard, and her hands trembling. She remained kneeling over him, and hesitantly laid her fingers against his neck, feeling for some flutter of life. His pulse beat erratically, but it was still there. She swallowed, and glanced back over her shoulder at the corpse of the other guard.

"Sorry..." She whispered to the air, as though he could hear her. She couldn't just go around killing humans helter skelter. Rico took a few moments to square her shoulders, and calm her rattled nerves. No more deaths, she promised herself, unless it was that of a certain stink-fish, should he prove uncooperative.

This level had to house the living quarters. The Plutarkian stench was strongest here, which meant a variety of things to Ricochet's nose. She'd be left without one of her best senses to tell if any extra danger lurked. There'd be no smell of gunpower, or cordite, to warn her of a hidden gunman. The rotted-fish smell would overpower everything else. The decor screamed "American gangster movie." From the plush pile carpet beneath her boots, to the bubbling, dancing fountain at the end of the hallway, everything was over-the-top, and over-dramatic.

She pondered the presence of guards posted at the stairwell, but not at the elevator door. As she neared the end of the hall, she discovered the reason. The elevator door was pass-keyed. Anyone without the correct code would probably get stranded inside until the security force came to pick them up. But just like any good, lazy Plutarkian, Limburger's private rooms were right across the hall from the elevator doors. The twin doors were glass, probably of the ballistic variety, tooled with gold and silver filigree. Very ornate, and very pretty. Rico didn't take long to admire them though; she tested the handles, and slipped inside, bracing herself against the stench that rolled in as the doors were opened.

The room was lit only by an aquarium light; in the aquarium, several nasty-looking, large-toothed fish swam around in lazy circles, giving her a hungry eye as she slipped by them. A soft snort, and the sound of rustling sheets brought Ricochet to an abrupt stop. Crouching slowly, she felt for the hilt of her knife, tucked safely away in her boot. Drawing it slowly, she waited until the noise had subsided before venturing forward once more. Limburger lay, sprawled out, in a massive four-post bed. His scaly skin was a mossy shade of green, with a splattering of darker marks about his head and gills. Those gill flaps fluttered occasionally as he snored, deep in his blissful sleep. He wore... Terran pajamas though, a pale blue color with hundreds of little golden fishes embroidered along it.

Rico fought with herself, hesitating for a moment before she decided to finally act. Doing her best to check the darkened corners of the room, she moved quickly, and quietly. Jumping onto the giant bed, she made sure to shake the Plutarkian just enough so he woke up. As Limburger rolled over to stare bleary-eyed at the Mouse standing over him, he groaned inwardly, thinking he was still dreaming. When the Mouse crouched down, and settled the gleaming, razor-sharp edge of a knife just under one of his fluttering gill flaps, Limburger jolted to full awareness, and recognized the petite shape leaning over him.

"Good morning, fish-lips." She whispered as he stuttered and stammered trying to find some clever words. "How about you and I have a little chat about your next three months of existence, eh?"

Stilled by a subtle poke of the knife in his gills, Limburger could only lay prone and stare. He'd never felt quite so vulnerable in his life. How'd she gotten in? Martian Mice were never ones for using subtlety. And definitely never ones for using doors. He found himself trembling like a leaf when he realized that he just didn't know what exactly he was up against in the shape of these two females. Ricochet studied his face carefully, only able to grin after long moments of silence.

"You do recognize me. Good. So you remember what it felt like to get your ass kicked and your plans thwarted, huh?" She allowed Limburger enough room to nod, but that was it. "Here's the deal, fishface. You sit tight. Don't do anything. Don't even lift a finger to fill Camembert's orders. Or else."

"Else what?" he squeaked, feeling the point of the knife glide lightly across his gills. He could be killed if she so much as twitched that hand.

"Else you become the next fish on my list. And doing away with you would be so very, very easy. If I find out you've done anything, anything at all to Chicago, Illinois, or even any other neighboring state, or time... I will kill you. In the most spectacularly gruesome way I can think of. Capisce?" 

"_Capisco,_" Limburger muttered, with a slight nod. She withdrew the knife, only extending it once to pat him lightly on the cheek with the flat of the blade.

"Good fishie." Ricochet suddenly smiled, her features lighting up like the sky on the Terran summer holiday. "Nice PJ's, Larry." She gestured with her hand at his body, causing Limburger to look down for a moment. The distraction worked. Flipping the knife around in her hand, she slammed the pommel down against the side of his head, knocking him silly.

She hopped off the mattress, and started to stride across the floor. The piranhas in the tank followed her movement with the utmost interest. She paused for a second, at the door, and stared at the little aquarium with shrewedly narrowed eyes. Limburger was into old-time gangster movies. He'd know the threat if she did it. While it definitely wouldn't be as effective as a horse's head in bed with him, the message should be the same. She found something suitably heavy from the conglomeration of collectibles around the room, and returning to her place at the door, she hucked the object at the fish tank.

Accompanied to the sound of the shattering glass, and bubbling water, Ricochet bolted out the door, back to the stairs, and out the same way she came in...

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

It had been daylight for a long time when Limburger stalked into the laboratory. His shoulders hunched, his head low, and his mood black, it was obvious that the Plutarkian would not take no for an answer. Karbunkle was pacing nervously beside the transporter unit, his heels clicking on the metal grates surrounding it with his frenzied pace. As Limburger's stalking drew to a halt just shy of the landing pad, he turned his gaze to Karbunkle.

"Please, dear doctor, tell me you have discovered a mob of miscreants who may aid us in eradicating those encephalitic Biker Mice..."

Karbunkle rasped and wrung his hands together, trying hard to find humor in his boss' bleak mood. "Why yes, your portly provoloness, I believe I have. They should be arriving any moment now.." Edging away from the transporter, he gave the humming machine plenty of room. Right as the clock hands on the wall clicked over to read 10:45, a warm glow began to grow on the landing pad. Limburger laced his fingers together behind his back, and squared his shoulders to put on his best face for his villains.

One by one they stepped out of the glowing portal. The first was a tall man, almost human in feature. He appeared at first glance to be older than expected, his hair silvered at the tips, and his eyes lined with years. But as Limburger watched him, his features changed. Height became girth, and pale human flesh became scaled and supple. Where a human had stood moments before, a Plutarkian now waddled forward.

Limburger's appreciation immediately went through the roof. A team employing a shapeshifter. How quaint! Next through came another near-human, a nondescript nut-brown man with shifty eyes and a nervous disposition. The third entered bore cyborg enhancements, most notably an over-large, distended jaw with steel teeth. This one had reptilian eyes, and a light dousing of fur across his shoulders and arms. The final was a brute, practically eclipsing the portal as he stepped through. The nose on his face was broad and flat, and his ears were tipped with tufts of black and white fur. He was massively muscular. Not one, but two pairs of arms crossed over his broad chest, as he looked down over the heads of his compatriots.

Karbunkle clapped excitedly and flipped the switch to deactivate the transporter unit. He then gestured to the newcomers. "It's my pleasure to introduce Mask, Stock, Cannibal, and C.B. Cookamunga!" They each tipped their head or touched their forehead in greeting as they were introduced. The shapeshifter, Mask, broke into a grin which transformed him back into a human-looking shape.

"They are.... the C Team!"

Limburger glanced at Karbunkle, who shrugged. "The A Team retired..."


	10. Chapter 10

**Labyrinth**

**Chapter 10**

"So, what's the plan?" Throttle leaned over the table, carefully eying the young Mouse. She hadn't touched her breakfast, but then again, she didn't seem as much into the hot dog and root beer fare as the bros were. She watched Throttle as he waited, her strange, purple eyes studying his features carefully. Vinnie remained quiet; it was still too early for him to really be awake. Modo kept more an eye on Vinnie than anyone else. When the white Mouse was tired, his defenses were low. Everyone needed to be more _on edge_ and less _half asleep_.

"We get information." Ricochet answered quietly, finally giving up trying to resurrect her appetite. She pushed the plate slightly away, but remained seated for the time being.

"And just where do we do that?" Modo inquired.

"Kentucky."

No one spoke for a few long heart beats. Vinnie swirled the remains of his root beer around in the bottom of his glass, waiting for the sugar to kick in. "Wait, did you just say Kentucky?"

"Yeah, land of grass, horses and more grass?" Modo echoed, confused.

When Ricochet nodded, Throttle pushed his specs up to rub his eyes thoughtfully. "Just what is in Kentucky that has information?"

"My human. Holed up in a safe house not far across the border." She glanced from Mouse to Mouse, trying to gauge their reactions. None of them looked too happy. "He's never had face to face contact with either my sister, or myself. But he'll know where they've moved her too."

"Who is he?" Throttle rose from his chair, obviously going along with the plan, but still curious enough to ask.

"His name's Howard Kilkenny. He's an ex-FBI agent..."

* * *

Dr. Silver and Agent Rammer waited patiently. They'd been called to the briefing room because Mikalson was on his way, demanding a talk with them. Haley fidgeted, readjusting and smoothing out her lab coat repeatedly while they waited. Rammer sat beside her at the large table, just aching to reach out, take her hands, and still her nervousness. He refrained, practically sitting on his own hands to stop himself.

When Mikalson finally arrived, he waved off the hurried rising of the two. Silver gratefully sank back down into her chair, tucking a stray lock of her sunny hair back behind her ear again. Taking a seat opposite them, Mikalson flipped open a binder containing all of Silver's recent reports. He didn't look down at them, but instead laced his fingers over the uppermost pages, and set his steady gaze on Silver.

"Tell me what we have here."

Silver took a deep breath to calm herself, and began. "We have two distinct, very alien species. One of these groups are the fish-men, which I've successfully studied multiple specimens. They all share the same characteristics as far as dentition, skin-texture, and organ tissues. The fish-men have all been D.O.A, so I don't have a very good idea of their physiology aside from diet.

"The second species seems to be that of a giant... bipedal... well, Mouse, sir."

Mikalson's brows rose.

"Well, this specimen isn't entirely organic either, so I'm not sure how much of her appearance is genetically modified."

"What do you mean, not entirely organic?" Mikalson leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

"Well, sir, the female has... cybernetic parts. It's all in the reports, sir." Haley began to lean forward, to indicate the item he had tucked under his arms. She stilled at the glare the military officer was giving her, unsettled by his expression to her core. She shrank back.

"I want to hear it from you, Doctor. I don't want to read it in some textual format. I want to hear the truth from the horse's own God-damned mouth."

"I... I don't know where to start..." Haley suddenly glanced over to Rammer, her blue eyes beseeching. When he didn't immediately answer her, she tore her glance away, focusing back on Mikalson. "I've never seen anything like it... Her... her brain is wired to her different body parts. Her bones are coated in some kind of metal alloy that doesn't register as anything normal on the spectrometer. She has muscle fibers that are laced with the same strands of metal... but she doesn't set off any metal detectors."

Mikalson's face remained closed and guarded while Silver just kept throwing more and more facts on the floor. Rammer however, noticed the more subtle changes in the Sergeant's demeanor. His fingers unlaced; he began to lean back in his seat. His eyes glanced upwards, to his right side, as he pondered new and unique ways to use this information. Suddenly, he broke into Haley's lecture with a single raised finger.

"Can you control it?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Control. Do you think you can control the alien entity?"

Haley glanced at Rammer, who tried, so hard to beg her with his eyes to say _no_. She stared at him for a long time, until finally, numbly, she nodded.

"I suppose we could. Some kind of mental, electromagnetic signal inhibitor, maybe a remote control apparatus.." She mused softly. Rammer broke his gaze away, hiding his dismay.

* * *

Limburger settled into his chair, finally satisfied with the credentials of the C-Team. They had only requisitioned a single item from him: a jet of Stock's choosing. Everything else they had sent Cookamunga back through the portal a few times, to bring back weapons by the armload. Limburger felt warmed knowing that there were, not one, but four super-villains on the track of the Biker Mice. So far, they seemed capable.

Limburger reminded himself lightly of just how often that was not always the case. Did he not believe that each of his villains could accomplish the impossible task? And now there was an additional Biker Mouse to handle. One, it seemed, who understood warfare, and subtlety a little better than the males did. Even as Cookamunga loaded up the last of the guns into the small, maneuverable craft that Stock had chosen, Limburger felt the edges of misgivings creep in along the edge of his senses.

Or perhaps that was just Mask slipping up beside him.

"Your goons have reported that the rodents have left the city, sir." Mask's voice was a mush of sounds, layers upon layers of different sounds, different accents. It gave him an eerie quality. That and he never seemed to look the same way twice, almost as though his shape-shifting weren't entirely controllable. Once more, he appeared Plutarkian, even though he wore camouflage and more weapons than a Plutarkian would ever deem necessary to carry.

"And your course of action?" The real Plutarkian didn't bother glancing at the other.

"Easy. They leave a trail a baby could follow. Stock will take us in the air, and we'll lay a trap for them that will serve only to eradicate them from the face of this planet." Mask smiled, his piscine features morphing into something grotesquely sinister.

Limburger didn't echo the smile. Instead, he felt his jaw clench at the hollow sound of the promise. "I want their heads, Mask. Those rodents have crossed me for the last time."

The other members of C-Team had begun to gather around. One by one they saluted. The nut-colored near-human, the one they called Stock, grinned hard enough that it seemed his face would freeze that way.

"Thy will be done, my master," Stock intoned seriously.

Beside him, Cannibal shook his head, massive metal jaws clicking together, while Mask chuckled softly. Limburger watched as they gathered together and began to load themselves into the jet. He hoped that these would be the ones. He would have prayed, but the Plutarkian gods had long been dead to their people, replaced by industry, power and money.

* * *

"Damn, girl, where'd you get this rig?" Throttle whistled softly as the rear ramp lowered, revealing a fully stocked garage.

Instead of answering, Ricochet pulled inside, backing up the ramp slowly. She waved the rest of them in, and waited while they maneuvered themselves up beside her. It was a tight fit for five bikes, and had Charley's or Rico's bike been any wider it wouldn't have worked. All three male Mice exchanged glances with one another, while Charley whistled softly at the array of tools and tires that hung on the walls.

"It's like a rolling Last Chance," she muttered to Modo. "See, look, she's got everything she'd need for repairs and upgrades. This. Is. Awesome."

Modo could only chuckle in response. His own roving eye had spotted instruments that were out of place for a motorcycle shop, tools that caused his right shoulder to ache fiercely. Ignoring the rumblings behind her, Ricochet keyed in a code that caused a door to slide open. She then stepped aside and motioned for the rest of them to enter. Throttle and Vinnie moved first, the latter not even attempting to spare her a glance. Charley tore herself away from the garage walls and stepped through with a smile. Ricochet, however, caught Modo staring at the specialized tools.

"M'sister has cybernetic augments," she spoke quietly as she came up beside him. "Sometimes, I have t' fix her."

The way her voice wavered showed a rare kink in her armor. Modo glanced down, feeling his own cybernetic arm clench unconsciously in reaction. There was a moment where it looked as though Ricochet was about to continue, to confess something else, but she drew away.

"C'mon, big guy, we've got plannin' t'do." Her hand reached up, touching his shoulder briefly. As her fingers dragged along his fur, Modo was overwhelmed with a sense of deja-vu.

_Clutching fingers held onto his arm. A tiny silver-furred shape, shivered in his arms. Urgency. He had to protect her. The fate of the world rested in that one Mouse._

Modo drew in a sharp breath, but Ricochet was already gone. He shook himself, rubbing a hand over his muzzle, and releasing a shuddering sigh. "Oh, mama..."

He paused in the doorway, to survey the surroundings. The rest of the trailer had been outfitted as living quarters. Two doors at the head of the trailer logically led to sleeping quarters, while the rest of the place was occupied by furniture of all sorts. A refrigerator was bolted to one side, a couch and a television set bolted in another place. A radio played low-volume background music, so quiet that Modo couldn't pick out what song or even style of music it was tuned to. A third door stood open, revealing through a short tunnel, the truck cab beyond it.

The other Mice, and the lone human, all stood before a huge map posted up. Charley was pointing out different marks, while beside her Throttle named off the one killed there. Ricochet defended each one by explanation. They were all Plutarkians. This one was responsible for that disaster. That one was the root cause of this war. The majority of the marks were in the United States themselves, but a few, like the home of the deceased French Ambassador Pouligny, were marked in foreign countries.

When Modo joined them, Vinnie was the one who payed him attention. "Charley's offered to drive the rig. We're really headed to Kentucky, bro."

Modo fixed his little bro with a steady look. The white Mouse still looked haunted, unsteady on his feet. Suddenly, Modo drew him away from the others.

"Look, li'l bro, do you get the sense we've met her before?" Modo's one eye glanced to the petite silver-furred Mouse before bouncing back to study his bro's reaction.

Vinnie was a terrible liar; he always had been. Modo knew that Vinnie must have some recollection of the female because of the way he looked away. After a moment, Vinnie gave a slight shake of his head, another indication. Vinnie's tells were so blatant even a blind cat would have known that he was lying. Modo needed to get the kid out of his shell, and find a way to get his ego back in the forefront. Vinnie was too vulnerable like this.

Modo reached out and gave Vincent's shoulder a tight squeeze. "Look, man, you know you can talk to me if you need to. This is getting all too surreal for my tastes."

Vinnie only nodded. His eyes were on Ricochet once more. "Yeah. Surreal."


	11. Chapter 11

**Labyrinth**

**Chapter 11**

It was pretty much a straight shot down I65 from Chicago. The truck stop where they picked up the big 18-wheeler was merely a pit stop on the long road. After nearly five hours on the road, Charley was ready to call it quits. As usual, though, the Mice seemed no worse for wear as they followed Ricochet like a line of little ducklings off into another truck stop. Charley let the big diesel engine idle down before she twisted the key to kill it. Climbing out of the cab, she was met on the ground by the four helmeted Mice.

She had to admit. They didn't look half-bad if one didn't look too closely. She knew most other people would be put off by the fur and muscles, but she supposed that it was just another fact of life for her. Even as Charley stretched to work the kinks out of her back and shoulders, the rear door of the trailer was already lowering. The hydraulics hissed softly as the ramp came to rest on the tar. Charley's bike was the only one present, and she passed the Mice a wary look.

Part of her wondered if hitching a ride with one of the boys would be easier than driving herself. But it really only took her a few moments to make the choice. She climbed the ramp and retrieved her helmet without a word. It seemed to be the way things were going lately. Lots of quiet. Charley worried about her boys, especially Vinnie. The way he stood, and the way his helmet was canted, she knew he was watching Ricochet.

Charley swung her leg over the motorcycle, and paused for a moment to gather herself. She couldn't be worrying about the boys while she was driving. The motorcycle was a completely different entity from the big rig. They'd be headed down to the sidestreets now, on their way to the proclaimed safe-house where Ricochet's human, Howie, would be waiting for them.

Charley had just rolled her bike down the ramp and set it back up on the kickstand for a moment when she heard the tell-tale whine of a turbine engine. Glancing up, she called the Mice's attention to the source. The craft had sleek lines, and the tell-tale mounts of laser weaponry mounted on its nose. Beside her, Modo let out a low growl. His one eye had spotted what the others had initially missed.

"Limburger."

The double "L" logo for Lawrence Limburger Industries stood out on the tail of the jet. Moving in unison, the Mice bolted for their own bikes, just as the belly-hatch on the jet began to hiss open. It took Charley two panicked tries to fire over her engine, but she still managed to get out of the way as two figures leaped from the plane to land, not on the ground, but atop the trailer. As soon as those two figures were clear, the jet turned a lazy circle and strafed the ground with laser fire. Nearby big rigs and tractor trailer cabs burst into flames and explosions as they were hit by stray fire.

"Ain't nobody crosses the C-Team and lives!" one of the figures howled to the sky, raising four arms in premature triumph. With a double pound, he slammed his hands into the top of the trailer, creating a deep crater where he was standing. The other standing with him made no sound, except the grinding tear of metal upon metal, as his enormous cybernetic jaws tore a hunk of steel plating off the trailer to chew on.

Ricochet made a noise of disbelief. The steel-jawed freak was _eating_ her home! She skidded her evasive maneuvers to a halt, and unholstered both of her pistols. Spinning them around once on each of her fingers, she drew a bead on the metal monstrosity and fired. Bullets pinged harmlessly off the steel jaw, but it served to draw the humanoid's attention.

The bros tried to keep the jet occupied. While laser fire chased them around, exploding other trucks and trailers alike, the three Mice dipped, dodged, dived, ducked and dodged, drawing the fire further away from the populated area of the truck stop, towards the fields beside it. A third item disgorged from inside the jet, a smaller flying object that joined in the chase, peppering the bros with small arms fire.

Vinnie seemed to come alive as soon as the conflict started. The preoccupied glaze on his face faded and turned into a maniacal grin. With a hoot, he broke off from his bros, and kicked his bike into a higher gear. Picking up more and more speed, he pressed down, compressing the shocks until just the right moment. Pulling up on his handlebars, at the same time he pressed the button for his jump-jets gave him the lift he needed to aim his forward cannons just right. With a double barreled burst, he hit the jet right in the aft, causing a small explosion, and lots of smoke.

He landed atop a burning trailer, and skidded to a halt before the end of it. Raising his fists in the air, he gave a whooping holler and challenged the jet to top him. The ailing aircraft turned a wobbly hundred-eighty degrees in the air, and bore down on his location in response. Throttle and Modo were occupied still drawing the smaller craft away from the citizens. On the horizon, flashing lights and sirens heralded the approach of human rescue squads. So many fires burned...

"Woah! Hey! I wanna keep my helmet on!" Vinnie yelped and dove with his bike off the end of the burning trailer. The smoking jet pulled up at the last second from its dive bomb, barely skimming the top of the trailer and shooting off again into the sky. Even with all the trouble it was having maneuvering, it still spun again in midair for another shot.

The girls seemed to have their hands full. The steel-jawed creep was still _eating_ her trailer-home, and the four-armed freak had laser weapons trained on them. Ricochet had given over one of her spare weapons to Charley, and they both were hunkered down behind what little cover their bikes offered. Rico hit the mark more often than not, her marksman training shining through with calm technique and steady hands. Charley's shots were a little more wild, pinging off the trailers more often than getting anywhere near the four-armed furry thing.

Through their field of fire whipped a sleek red Martian bike, Vinnie whooping upon it's back. Behind that, wobbling in the air, came the jet, strafing the ground with laser fire. For a moment Rico stopped shooting, to watch the deadly ground-to-air ballet. Vincent plucked a pair of fusion flares from his bandoliers with one hand, and ignited them against his hip. Glancing behind, he casually tossed them in the air, and watched as they were sucked into the turbine engines of the jet. After a count of two, the jet faltered as the left turbine exploded. Spinning a ridiculously delicate pirouette in the air, the jet bee-lined for a crash...

Right into Ricochet's mobile motor-home. Bodies jumped in all directions as the sky turned red with the explosion. Ricochet let out a pained cry as she watched her home go up in flames. Charley shook her out of the shock.

"We need to get out of here!" She shouted over the din of engines and fire. "I can't afford to bail four of you out of jail!"

Rico pulled her arms out of the human's grasp and muttered something under her breath. Reaching up to a bank of small buttons on the outer edge of her helm, Rico keyed into the bro's comm channel. "Time to high tail it, boys. Meet me at the following coordinates."

She transmitted the location of the safe-house across the channel, and then motioned to Charley. The human would come with her; she felt confident that the bros would join her eventually. She felt horrible turning her back to the flames. They'd worked so hard to make that trailer feel like a home. The last three years of her life felt like it went up in flames in mere seconds, because it had. When she and Charley merged back onto the highway, a fleet of firetrucks and police cars were pulling into the truck stop. She knew the C-Team members weren't down or out at the least. And when they were done here, Limburger was as good as fish-bait.

* * *

Dr. Haley Silver sat quietly at her desk, her hands twined deep into her hair. She stared blankly at the preliminary sketch of the article she needed to design: a simple radio transmitter with an electromagnetic disruption field. In theory, it looked so easy. In reality, she couldn't help but feel the weight of misgivings on her shoulders.

Her heart was heavy with worry, not only for the situation at hand, but for the fact that James hadn't spoken to her since their meeting with Mikalson. He'd excused himself immediately after they were released, and she hadn't seen him since. He hadn't even come into the lab to interrupt her for lunch. She went over and over their conversations in her head, trying to find where she'd said something to drive him away. Nothing came to the front. She couldn't find anything that would have turned the FBI agent from her.

Suddenly, she swept her hands across the desk, knocking everything there to the floor with a loud clatter. Why was she so frustrated? Rising from the stool, she shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her lab coat, frustratedly pacing back and forth. Finally, she stopped pacing and walked to the tank.

There, floating in the faintly green saline solution, was the Mouse. Genetic typing had discovered 29 pairs of chromosomes, which eliminated the possibility that it was some human genetic mutation. But at the same time, the giant, bipedal Mouse woman couldn't be a common mouse mutation either. It left the one, most absurd, explanation in the book. The one that every other scientists in Area 51 wanted to be the truth: the subject was of extra-terrestrial origin.

Haley thrust her hands through her hair again, pushing back her bangs and staring in mute awe at the form floating before her. She couldn't take it any more. Turning on her heel, she left her work behind, and struck out to find James. It took her a few tries. He wasn't in his quarters where she expected him to be. And he wasn't in the cafeteria, his other favorite stomping ground. She found him staked out in a corner of the library, with a laptop and a guilty face.

Okay, so calling it a laptop would be completely too generous. It was more like a Netbook, tiny, almost hand-held. Rammer looked up from it, with a distinctly guilty expression. Haley paused for a moment, before taking a seat at the table across from him. When she reached out to turn the small Netbook around, he offered no resistance. Puzzled, Haley stared at the website displayed on the screen. After a few moments of staring at the blog, she tilted her head.

"You hacked the system?"

Rammer shook his head slightly, and reached out for the Netbook once more. Haley let him turn it, but he only turned it halfway, so he could see as well. "I didn't. He did." Rammer pointed to the blog's headline, and something about the impending reality of Area 51. Haley squinted at the screen, and leaned forward to read some more. As she became absorbed in the story, Rammer quietly watched her.

One of these days, he'd have the nerve to say something about his feelings. One of these days, he's reach over and pull her close, never to let her go again. But today wasn't that day. Tomorrow wasn't looking good either. He'd been burned once. The thought of risking it all again honestly terrified him. As Haley was reading the screen, it pinged lightly, letting him know he'd just received a message.

Haley glanced up at him, partly dismayed as he took his Netbook back. She didn't want to react, but the reality of the situation wasn't lost on her. By having that little computer, by having access to outside information, and contact with someone outside the walls of Area 51, Rammer was disobeying every direct order she could think of. But why?

He seemed absorbed in the contents of his message, not taking his eyes off the screen until Haley reached forward and gently touched his arm. His eyes instantly shifted to her, his fingers stilling on the keyboard. For a moment, she was frozen by his gaze, unable to speak or think. He looked away first, releasing her from the strange grip. His attention was consumed once more by the screen, until he finished his message and sent it upon its way.

Haley eventually found the courage to ask. "Why? Who is he?"

Rammer pressed a button on the Netbook, waiting for it to shut down before he closed the tiny lid. "He was my partner, before I got him paralyzed. Now, Howie Kilkenny's one of the best computer surveillance technicians I've ever known."


	12. Chapter 12

**Labyrinth**

**Chapter 12**

Ricochet pushed the human like she had never pushed another being before. They had to be the first to get to Howie's safe-house. She couldn't let the innocent hacker's first impression of her species be those boys. Certainly with Charley there, another human, the blow would be softened. Maybe even cushioned completely. Thus far, the Charley of this world was impressing her, much as the Charley of her own had. Strong, capable, confident; she bucked the system nearly as much as she towed the line. Charley would have been a great match in her own branch of the Martian Military.

Rico kept most of her attention on the road, but parts of it drifted, focusing for a moment here on the energy read-out on her heads-up display, part of it checking the mirrors. She knew Charley was exhausted. She wanted to apologize, but couldn't bring herself to address her. Rico was still trying to cope with the loss of her home, still trying to discover the best way to rescue her sister.

Nearly an hour later, when Rico twisted her bike off onto a small, dirt side-road, she could see the relief sag Charley's shoulders. They were near their destination. The dirt road soon narrowed, and their pace slowed to a crawl. Sparkle could do most of the hardest driving herself, so Rico could keep a closer eye on the human. When the two bikes pulled into the driveway beside the old beat-up Volkswagen Bus, both females were covered in road-grime, and sweating in the Kentucky heat.

Before they approached the door, Rico shared the pass code with Charley, and allowed Charley for the moment to take the lead. Needless to say, both of them were taken by surprise with the door opened to reveal a bearded man in his mid-forties, sporting a tee-shirt that read _I Believe_ emblazoned with a stereotypical flying saucer. It wasn't so much his apparent ready-belief in extra-terrestrials that made them pause: it was the fact that he was seated in a slim, sporty wheelchair.

Charley hesitated until Ricochet poked her lightly. "Oh. Yeah. Uhm... I wish the weather in Sarasota were as lovely as this."

Howie seemed to relax a little, letting go of the door. "Sarasota never gets as beautiful as this," he answered with a warm grin. Pushing the door open slightly further, he wheeled himself backwards from the entrance, to allow them to step inside. "You must be Ricochet, and Steel. It's a pleasure to meet you..."

"Actually, no... My name's Charley; I'm sort of... helping out. Facilitating." Charley corrected him gently, as she pushed the door closed behind Rico. Rico was busying herself undoing the strap to her helmet. Charley watched carefully. "I guess there's no easy way to do this, huh? Mr. Kilkenny, I'd like you to meet Ricochet."

Rico wasn't pulling any punches. Instead of finding some subtle way to reveal what she was, she simply pulled her helmet off, and shook out her hair. Then she waited.

Charley tried to read Howie's face. But the wheelchair-bound man simply stared and studied. There was no whoop of triumph, no confirmation of all that he believed, just an analytical approach that gave both of them chills. He rolled forward slightly, finally, reaching out to touch Ricochet's hand. She immediately bent down, dropping to one knee so he could do whatever he wished. Her eyes closed as he brushed fingers against her fur, and outlined the shape of her ear with his thumb. She flinched, rolling back and falling to her butt as his fingers touched her antennae.

"I'm sorry!" It was out of Howie's mouth as soon as he realized he'd crossed a line. His hand was left stretched out, leaning forward from his wheelchair. "It's just... this is... you're really.. and-"

Charley stepped in before he could dig himself a worse hole, putting her hand on his and forcing his arm to lower. Rico gave herself a shake, and tried to wave him off with a smile. For once, she was grateful she was doing this with Charley, and not her sister present. After all, Steel likely would have had Howie in a choke-hold the moment he'd trespassed to touch her. Charley was asking her a question, and it took a moment for Ricochet to actually hear what she was saying.

"I'm good.. I'm good, really." Rico did her best to soothe them both. Apparently, Charley knew just how sensitive and personal a Mouse's antennae were. "Jus' wasn't 'specting that."

"You have an accent! You sound like you're from Georgia! How do you speak English so well? Which planet is yours? Did it take you long to reach Earth?" As soon as she got back to her feet, Howie was falling over himself verbally with questions. Charley had to remind herself about his tee-shirt; it explained his instant willingness to accept that the Mouse was really extra-terrestrial.

"We get mosta Earth's tv shows," Rico explained sheepishly. She rubbed the back of her neck a little, her tail unwinding from her waist slowly. "And no, it didn't take long... usually, we wait 'til Mars is in apogee t'our destination 'fore launching."

Howie grabbed his wheels and suddenly spun himself around; with one smooth push, he was across the room and into a second room. Charley looked at Ricochet and shrugged, before following him. As they approached, they could hear him talking to himself, rifling through papers, and throwing them helter skelter. Rico poked her head into the room, and drew back instinctively as a sheaf of paper fluttered past her head.

"The other one, your.. your... sister, isn't she? Steel.. you're here, and she's not that means... that means..." Suddenly, he came up with what he was looking for, holding up the print-out to the sky like it was some trophy. "Hot damn, Rammer! You have no idea what you're sitting on, do you!?"

"You know where she is?" Charley moved first, breaking the unspoken barrier of the doorway and grabbing the sheet out of Howie's hand. "We need to get he away from the government! Earth isn't ready for this... not yet. You have to know that, right?"

Howie blinked up at her. He might have been handsome at one time in his life, but years in a wheelchair, and even more years peering at computer screens had left him with an almost perpetual squint, peering out myopically from behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. He had a scar down his cheek that only was visible when he smiled, pulling the muscles of his mouth in a strange way. "Do they really have a choice? Read that."

Charley glanced down at the paper, and obliged him. She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully, eyes widening and her face turning white as she bit into the meat of the message. Curious, Ricochet crept up beside her to read over her shoulder.

"Oh... no.." Charley whispered as she finished, right at the same time that Ricochet read the worst line of it all.

"Control her? They're going to try and icontrol/i her?" A dozen emotions warred on the Mouse's features, until one finally one out, burying all the others. "We can't let that happen. She'll kill them all... just like the first time... Please. Howie. You have t'tell us how t'find her. Ya have to."

Before Howie could draw a breath to speak, something behind him began beeping. He spun on one wheel, tapping a button and pulling up a variety of images on his screens. "You... expecting company?" He asked, curiously.

Ricochet nodded, smiling at the screen. "Yeah. That's th' cavalry..."

* * *

"New Mexico?" Modo sounded a little dubious. "There's really an Area 51?"

"And you've got an inside man?" Throttle echoed his bro's unspoken suspicion. They didn't know this human, even though he seemed to ready to just accept them for what they really were. Charley had done a lot of talking in the last few hours, and she was thankful that he had supplied some good lemonade to soothe her parched throat.

Howie had a map spread out over his kitchen table, and all the Mice were gathered around it. His wheelchair fit neatly into the spot at the head, while Charley occupied the only other chair in the room at the foot of the table. Throttle and Ricochet flanked one side, while Modo and Vinnie flanked the other. Time alone with his bro's seemed to have shaken Vinnie out of his funk.

"So this means we get to bust down the doors, guns blazing and totally rescue the girl, doesn't it?" He piped up, laying his palms flat on the table before him. "C'mon! It'd be heroic, and dashing and-"

"No." Ricochet didn't mean to sound so harsh, but there was a cold fury in her voice as she cut him off. "You can't just go in e'erywhere, guns blazin' and 'spect it to just fall in your favor e'ery time! Y'fire off half-cocked and people get killed! There're better way t'handle situations!" Her voice cracked, buried emotions bubbling to the surface. Vinnie blinked and stared, partially shocked by her tone, partially wounded that she could say such a thing. Ricochet's hands came up to cover her eyes, and her shoulders shook with her next shuddering breath.

And suddenly, she spun on her heel, and practically bolted from the room, leaving stunned silence in her wake. Throttle shared a glance with Modo first, and then Vinnie. With a nervous laugh, Modo tried to shrug off the mood, but Throttle shook his head slightly.

"Vinnie?" The single question broke the tension, and Vinnie physically flinched.

After a few moments, Vinnie straightened up from the table. "She's right... but..." He looked in the direction that Ricochet had disappeared to, and squared his shoulders. "I'll be right back."

Charley got to her feet as Vinnie passed by her, catching his arm in a quick grip. Wordlessly, she gave him a squeeze, and smiled, encouragingly. They were all like brothers to her, but Vinnie held a special place in her heart as the youngest of the bunch. She didn't want to see his confidence shattered, and his ego crushed. His idealism sometimes was the only thing that kept her faith in the world going. He nodded, getting the message, and patted her hand. As Vinnie left, Howie whistled softly.

"Seventeen hours of driving... or one three-and-a-half hour plane flight.." He mused, at the remaining two Mice.

"You have a plane?" Charley asked, turning her attention back to the table.

"No, but I know a guy..." Howie grinned, that weird pull of his scar tugging one corner of his mouth into a grimace.


	13. Chapter 13

**Labyrinth**

**Chapter 13**

"So fail a couple of times, and tell him it can't be done." James Rammer felt it was the only suggestion he could make. Haley looked so despondent; her head hung low, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea that she hadn't touched a drop of. Around them, the cafeteria buzzed with activity. It was dinnertime for many of the scientists of Area 51, so they went largely unnoticed, except for a few cursory inquiries into how her project was going itself.

Haley sighed softly, and shook her head. "How can I? The answer is staring me right in the face... the MRI clearly shows that there are ports there, at the base of its skull. Like it was meant to be controlled. I mean, some kind of radio device and … wham... complete musculo-skeletal control relinquished." Haley thrust her hands into her hair once more, hiding her face from Rammer as she warred with herself. "As a scientist, I want to see if it can be done.. but... it's.. what if it's self-aware? If it has a sense of identity, and self-preservation? I mean, I wouldn't want to be remote controlled, or turned into a puppet.. or.. or.."

"Haley." Rammer reached out, touching her arm to get her attention. When she looked up, she had to pause at the softness in his expression. She'd been telling the truth when she had told him, what seemed like ages ago, that he was an exceptional conversationalist. She'd grown to trust and respect his opinion in these last few weeks. "Stop beating yourself up. There are ways around this, and you know it as well as I do. You're the smartest person I know."

She lowered her hand to cover his, and gave his fingers a squeeze. Her smile was brief, but it still gave Rammer a little thrill to see. If he could just not screw this one up, he told himself, echoing her smile. Her hand slipped from his though, as someone approached their table. She took a few moments to turn her smile to the newcomer. It was one of the younger lab assistants, carrying a disc, and a folder of paper.

"I, uh... have those metallurgy results you asked for... unless this is a bad time." He glanced at Rammer, who slowly sat back in his chair.

Haley didn't so much as glance in his direction as she stood up. "No.. no, now's fine. Let's take a walk, Cooper; you can tell me all about what you found."

Rammer watched her go, following her with his eyes until he could no longer see her. Then his gaze drifted to the atomic clock high on the cafeteria wall. Draining the rest of his coffee, he figured he'd go check his email, see if Kilkenny had gotten back to him on any theories or suspicions he could have. Dealing with his ex-partner over the internet was a whole lot easier than facing him in person. At least this way, he could pretend that Howard still had use of his legs, and that James' own mistakes hadn't cost him his closest friendship.

* * *

Vinnie found her outside, sitting on the stone wall that lined Kilkenny's dirt driveway. There was no one around the cabin for miles, but he still felt strangely exposed walking around without a care. She sat hunched over, her tail held between her hands as if it were a security blanket. For a moment, she looked so frail and weak that Vinnie had to pause, to blink away some sort of strange double vision, an odd feeling of deja vu. Throttle had fessed up that Ricochet and her sister, Steel, were the ones that pulled them out of Limburger's tower when Vinnie's ribs had been shattered, and Throttle's arm dislocated from it's socket. He also knew that she wasn't a Freedom Fighter; her training and her motions were far too precise and not nearly wild enough. But he also couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he knew her better than he should, that he could read her eyes without even trying. Even now, he knew she was struggling, but he didn't know what with.

He took one more step, and spread his hands out to either side. "I come in peace," he cracked a grin at the lame joke, hoping to get a response out of her. But the pained expression on her face just deepened, and she turned away from him slightly. Vinnie tried to figure out what kind of advice Modo's Mama would have given him at that moment, but all he could come up with was: _Hike up your britches and dive right in!_

So he did just that. Tucking his thumbs into his bandoliers, Vinnie took a step to the side, until he was directly in front of her again, not letting her avoid him this time. He puffed out his chest for a moment with bravado, but then, let himself deflate. Sliding to one knee before her, he felt like he was begging for answers. "What did I do to hurt you? Did I say something? Did I-" He cut himself off as she looked at him. It was evident she'd been crying, her cheeks streaked with darkness. But she shook her head, and tried to smile.

"Y've done nothing, Vinnie.." She told him softly, releasing her tail to wipe at her eyes, as if she could dry her fur that easily. "Nothin' that ya'd remember... it ne'er happened fer any a' ya."

It was Vinnie's turn to furrow his brow, the flexi-mask bending easily with his knit muscles. "It never-" He didn't get to finish. Ricochet had reached out and cupped her hands at his jawline, drawing him closer. Her nose brushed against his, sending a chill right down his spine, moments before their antennae connected.

"I'm sorry, Vinnie.. but I can't keep pretendin'.." She whispered to him, and with a slow breath, she unleashed a flood of memories. Memories that swept through their connection, and broken into his mind with a terrible fervor, physically sending him falling backwards with their intensity. Something unlocked inside his own head, repressed memories churning to the surface.

What he had thought been dreams: Chicago, a hollowed out ruin; Earth, destroyed and raped just like Mars; Charley, hateful and fearful of them all; and Limburger, gloating over the ruins because he had managed to eradicate his most hated foes. And worst of all, seeing Rimfire on the hill, the EM pulse growing behind him, knowing that the only way his life would ever be normal again was to kill his best friend's nephew.

When Vinnie came to his senses again, his view of Ricochet was blocked by a wall of dark fur, and metal. Throttle was kneeling at one side of him, while his head was cradled in Charley's lap. Howie had wheeled himself between Modo and Ricochet, as if he could keep the big Mouse at bay with just his wheels. Vinnie pushed off concerned hands, clambering up to his feet, and shouldering his way past Modo. He wanted to look at her, to really see her again, for the first time.

"She fixed it!" Vinnie proclaimed suddenly, laughing almost hysterically. "She really did!"

"I think he hit his head," Modo muttered.

Despite having a fusion cannon pointed at her face, Ricochet seemed remarkably calm. She felt as if I huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. He remembered now. He remembered the promise she'd made him, and how she kept it. He remembered what he'd had to do to get her into action. And now, he was running off at the mouth, and something he would say, would surely unlock the others' memories.

"No, no! You don't get it! She fixed it! I thought it was a dream, but it wasn't! Chicago was.. gone, like totally done, and Earth looked like Mars, just.. dust, and wasteland, and gutted buildings, and humans worked for Plutarkians, and Carbine was there, and Charley.. Charley... was married to Jack.. and .." he just kept going, even when Charley voiced her disbelief that she'd ever have anything to do with Jack McCyber again.

Throttle was calmly watching Ricochet. "The big blue portal..."

"... was time-travel. Your Limburger went back in time, an' killed the three 'a ya."

The tan Mouse took off his sunglasses, and cleaned them on the edge of his vest, to buy himself some time. Ricochet continued while he was apparently distracted. "What he remembers... somehow, Earth's natural flow of things wanted t' reset itself... Ya were stuck with us... in my reality. Where the Plutarkians won. Steel and I came back t'stop it, t'reset things."

Throttle slowly began to nod. He could see it. Worse yet, he could feel it. The cold pit that formed in his stomach knowing that Carbine could, and would someday love someone else. _What year is it ? _The words echoed in his head, spoken through a portal with a surface like rippling water. The opportune arrival of two Mice, followed by their sudden, and subsequent disappearance. It was all starting to make sense. "Modo, put that away."

Modo looked at Throttle like he had four heads. Throttle replaced his glasses coolly, and squared off eye-to-eye with the big Mouse. After a moment, Modo lowered his arm, the cannon sliding back home into the forearm casing. Modo was still the only one left in the dark, and he scowled as Vinnie practically bounced over from where he had been telling Charley all about what he remembered, to where Ricochet was still sitting on the stone wall.

He didn't even bother to ask her permission, he just swooped in, scooped her up and swung her around in a tight hug. Rico wanted to protest at first; she wanted to smack him, and force him to put her down. After all, he had killed her Rimfire. _For good reason_, another rational part of her mind reminded her. Three years had dulled the pain more than she'd expected, and she found herself wrapping her arms around his neck, and squeezing back. When he finally set her feet back to the ground, he left his hands lingering on her waist, even though she drew back from him.

Gone was the uncertainty and fear in his eyes. It was replaced by a twinkle, a glint of his mischievous streak, and a hint of his legendary confidence. "I remember you." He didn't stop smiling, even as she pulled away from him. It seemed a triumph now, to recall who she was, and to know why he felt so guilty when he looked at her.

Off to the side, Howie was scrubbing his face.

Charley patted him on the shoulder. "It's a lot to absorb, isn't it?"

"Martian Mice... Plutarkian Fish... and.. time travel?" Howie chuckled. "You kidding me? This is my dream come true! Aliens! Alien technology! I could kiss the whole lot of you right now!" Howie spun his wheelchair around, lifting the small front wheels off the ground in his enthusiasm. He would have kept going if his pocket hadn't beeped at him. Charley tilted her head slightly as he pulled a phone out, and checked the screen. "Rammer emailed. It's marked Urgent.."

His face whitened slightly, and he motioned Charley to follow him inside.


	14. Chapter 14

**Labyrinth**

**Chapter 14**

Within eight hours of receiving the email from Rammer, the timetable for their transport was underway. Ricochet had nearly panicked at the news that the American government was going to try to devise a control-chip for Steel's augmented parts. Rammer had immediately set to work while Charley composed an answering email to the FBI agent. She took the time to explain who she was, and why she was a concerned party, even hinting to the man on the other end of the electronic conversation that there were more members of the Mouse species en route to his location. And while she wrote, the Mice prepared.

Kilkenny's pilot was kept in the dark. It was hard, but Ricochet cobbled together a quartet of cargo boxes that looked halfway legitimate. Inside each box, of course, was a motorcycle and its Mouse. The boxes were slated for delivery to a location just outside the radar-window for the Area 51 station in New Mexico. The plan, though under contention, was for the Mice to get captured, and handle things from the inside.

Even in the cargo hold of the small plane, the Mice dickered over details through their helmet coms, in a four-way conference that had Modo wanting to claw his one good eye out a few times. His memories were still hazy; he knew this Mouse with the gunmetal fur, and the silvery hair was important. He just couldn't remember why, aside from the fact that she was supposed to be _dead._ No resolution had been reached by the time the whine of the engines had changed to signal a descent to landing. Ricochet fell quiet first, but it was Throttle who got the sinking feeling that something wasn't right.

The engine whine was too loud, the angle of descent far too steep. Ricochet's cargo box, being the lightest was the first to slide, as the plane went nosedown into a death spiral. Four motorcycles roared to life all at the same time, busting out of boxes, and melting a hole in the hull with their lasers. Throttle gave a shout for Charley, dropping forward in the plane without a problem. He kicked the pressure door in, and recoiled from the scene. His hair whipped around his ears. Both emergency doors were caved in. Kilkenny's wheelchair was empty, tipped over on one side. And the pilot... looked like a melting pile of wax. It's features and clothes were indistinguishable, as it melted across the console and dripped onto the cockpit window.

Throttle went to climb back to his bike, only to find Modo's cybernetic hand outstretched to give him a hand up. With a gesture back to the cockpit, Throttle made a disgusted sound. "Polyoid... splattered all over the controls."

"Well, then," Modo revved Li'l Hoss' engine in reply. "Let's Rock and.."

"Get the hell outta here!" Rico cut them off, rocketing forward on her chopper to the tune of her afterburners.

Throttle looked at Vinnie, who shrugged. "She'll learn." He laughed once, before punching his own jump-jets and taking off through the hole in the hull. Out of the corner of their eyes, they spotted a pair of parachutes descending slowly into the New Mexican desert, but what concerned them more was the floating fortress before them. They'd seen it before, Limburger's personal home-away-from-home. They'd also destroyed it already on numerous occasions. Throttle was fully prepared to add this time onto the tally. "Get to ground, bros! And.. sis... or.. whatever.." He finished the order lamely, and heard the sound of warm laughter come back to him over the com. A slight adjustment of weight, and a little tweak of the accelerator, and soon the four of them had squealing-tire touchdowns on the hardpacked desert floor.

Above them, goons in flying gyrocopters began to swarm out of the fortress. One of the choppers seemed to wobble briefly in the air, and then, with a rebel yell, and a cloud of exhaust, began to barrel directly straight for Vinnie. Undeterred by the caroming copter, Vinnie skidded to a stop, and unleashed one of his pistols, laying down a barrage of fire that any sane being would have avoided. Unfortunately, the pilot was far from sane. An alien, some nut-colored species that Vinnie wasn't familiar with, ejected out of the pilot's seat, with crazed laughter, and plummeted hands out directly for Vinnie. It took a few seconds of thought, but ultimately, Vinnie just rolled his bike four feet backward, and watched the alien take a full terminal velocity faceplant into the tough dirt. Rolling forward again, he poked at it with his boot, and then shrugged to find it unresponsive.

Modo wasn't faring quite so lucky. His opponent had been dropped off by two choppers, which now peppered Modo's path with laser fire. His bike kept up the evasive maneuvers while he kept himself busy shooting projectiles out of the air. The creature that faced him was a Hexapod, six-limbed, it could use the middle pair of limbs either as extra legs for speed, or extra arms for.. well, what it was doing now: lobbing boulders at Modo from a hundred yards out. Modo probably would have been in for a world of hurt, had Throttle not sped into the scene disrupting everything.

They couldn't afford to be distracted though. Not even by the weirdest battle cry they'd ever heard.

"You ate my _house!_" Ricochet unleashed an unholy barrage of gunfire at a particular chopper. While it, and the goon piloting it went down in a fiery wreck, the cargo that it carried, one metal-jawed miscreant, landed safely upon the desert floor. Metal jaws clacked together, and he took one square hit to the face. Merely shaking it off, Cannibal laughed.

"You are going to be one... delectable, little morsel," the monster chuckled, slowly advancing on Ricochet's position.

Rico's bike, Sparkle, was one of the few Martian bikes without an internal weapons system; it's rider was trained to be a far deadlier weapon than anything it could ever do. So instead, the bike was primed with a defensive AI, and it knew, when an opponent advances, that it should back up. Rico kept peppering the fur-backed behemoth with weapon's fire, reloading on the fly. For the first time, she cursed having to rely on Terran tech. Bullets just seemed ineffective.

Vinnie suddenly pulled up beside her. "Hey beautiful." Even if it was out of place, the tone of his greeting made Ricochet's ears flush with heat. Only muscle-memory stopped her from dropping bullets in her attempt to reload. "Ever hear of a maneuver called _A spoonful of sugar_?" It took her a moment, but she recalled it, and automatically held her hand out. Vinnie placed a grenade into her palm, and winked at her. "Just follow my lead, 'kay?"

Rico tucked the grenade down her shirt and nodded, before spurring Sparkle forward, instead of retreating. For a moment, the bike protested, until Vinnie shot forward first. And then, well, it just happened so quickly. Cannibal grabbed Vinnie off his bike, getting the Mouse by a shoulder and a knee. For a split second, it looked like Vinnie would get eaten whole, suspended above the gaping metal maw as he was. That is until Ricochet popped the grenade pin, and dropped it into the waiting gullet. Cannibal reflexively shut his mouth, and swallowed. Vinnie followed the motion by igniting a fusion flare, and melting the hinges of the massive metal jaw shut. He hit the ground running, to be picked up by his own bike in a few strides. They were headed straight away from the carnage that was about to happen behind them, when they realized that wasn't such a great idea after all.

Up out of the desert seemed to rise a wall, but as the sand and dust poured off it, Vinnie realized he was staring down the barrel of a tank. The sound of cocking guns, and chambering rounds brought him and Ricochet to a complete and utter halt. Above, Limburger's fortress melted into a cloud, and his gyrocopters fled in every direction.

"Drop your weapons!" Someone shouted from the military line. "Get on the ground! Now!"

Ricochet looked at Vinnie, and he stared back helplessly. She was insane. This was what she'd wanted. The only way in was by capture. Rico dropped her pistols to either side of her bike, and slowly lowered Sparkle's kickstand. "Come on, Vin. I can't do this alone." Her voice drifted to him over the com, even though he could hear more shouting and more weapons being readied behind him. Not only would he get taken, but his bros, as well. And even the Hexapod, the lone standing super-villain left. He tossed his own laser pistol to the left, and raised his hands slowly, dismounting his own bike in one smooth motion.

And suddenly, he was swarmed, thrown to the ground, his hands wrenched around behind his back, and cuffed with what felt like zip-ties. He turned his helmeted head to one side, to watch as Ricochet was treated just as roughly. Suddenly, the human in charge grabbed her helmet and yanked it mercilessly off. And everyone retreated about five paces.

"Get me Mikalson! ASAP!"

Vinnie's shoulders got grabbed, and he was supported long enough for his own helmet to be ripped off. "Ow! Hey! Not the face!" He protested, as he was dropped back into the dirt. His words got a whole new round of surprised cursing and hasty steps taken backwards. In moments, Throttle and Modo were both dropped at their sides, while the Hexapod put up a continued fight. With the sharp, sudden report of a rifle, the bulk of the six-limbed alien hit the ground with a crash. Stunned silence rose up, until one voice broke it.

"What? They still study dead things."

* * *

Rammer raced to keep up with Mikalson as the general made a straight line for the surface. "No no! Sir, you don't understand! They come in peace! They're the good guys!" He was trying hard to dissuade Mikalson's immediate desire to put the whole lot of them under lock-and-key. "Look, they want to negotiate; we have one of their own, they have answers! Isn't that what you ultimately want? Answers!"

Mikalson was silent until the elevator doors closed around him, and then, he rounded on Rammer with a viciousness that cowed the FBI agent into silence. "And just how long have you known of this secondary element of aliens, operating on our home planet? Hm? Why wait until now to tell me? Why elect at this moment, right when the doctor, who you are supposed to be _guarding_, might I remind you, is currently running her first control tests on the entity Alpha? Shouldn't you be making sure that nothing happens to our only expert on these things?" Rammer drew breath as Mikalson did, but something in the elder general's eyes stopped him from speaking. Mikalson wasn't quite done. "And don't think that we don't know about your outside contact with your ex-partner, Howard Kilkenny. If you think that I don't run a tight enough ship to know when there's a breach in my hull, you are sorely mistaken, young man! Now if you excuse me, I have to bring in four living entities, and two deceased ones, while keeping an ear out for the team that went to recover the two unfortunate parachutists who landed inside our Red Zone!"

The elevator binged at the top of the tunnel, and Mikalson stormed out the door. Only when the doors began to slide shut again did Rammer jump through the opening to follow. He was probably right, though. He should have gone down to check on Haley before he ran off on this wild goose chase. But Howie had actually let someone else use his email; Howie had actually let someone else inside his house. Someone who had contact with this species before; someone who already knew a great deal about the subject that Haley was extracting from the tank even as he was running across the desert to catch up to Mikalson.

Rammer took a gamble when he caught up again, knowing full well that he wasn't military, and the only jurisdiction that Mikalson had over him was the pull he had with the FBI themselves. Sure, he might get demoted, but less work would mean more time to see Haley. He gave himself a shake out of those thoughts, because it was a dream and nothing more. Instead, he focused. Grabbing Mikalson by the shoulder, he physically hauled the general away from his commanders, and instinctively ducked the right hook that he'd barely seen coming. Rammer's right arm deflected a left uppercut almost as quickly, and it brought Rammer nose to nose with the general.

"You will listen to what they have to say. You will listen to reason." Rammer's heart hammered in his ears. He'd never balked authority before, but here he was, throwing out his neck for a group of aliens that he wasn't even sure would even know what it meant. "This is a research facility, general, not a military operation. Even I know that much. If they can answer Doctor Silver's questions, then we need to let them - Holy good God, what is _that!?_"

Rammer forgot what he was saying as the six-limbed furry beast was carried past him on a pair of gurneys that someone had lashed together. Before Mikalson could answer, another voice chimed in, one cool and collected and not seemingly bothered at all by the fact that it's owner was in cuffs.

"That was a Hexapod. Or a Hexapoid, depending on what system you're from." The speaker was a six-foot tall talking, tan Mouse. "They're originally from Beta Centauri, but since their official contact, they've spread like a big, bad virus."

A second Mouse, smaller and white-furred, broke away from his escort to stop beside his companion. With a smirk, he flicked his tail toward Mikalson. "He may wanna close that. Flies aren't all that great tasting."


	15. Chapter 15

**Labyrinth**

**Chapter 15**

As much as Haley balked at giving the thing a gender identity, as she watched the lab assistants maneuver the Mouse onto her operating table, she couldn't deny how female it seemed. It was oddly human, how vulnerable it looked, lying there, fur glistening with the saline solution it had been suspended in for so long. As the two lab assistants heaved to move the Mouse from the gurney to the table, Haley reached over and grabbed a portion of the blanket. At first she was shocked to feel how heavy it was, weighing far more than it possibly could, or should. But she remembered just as quickly how the lower half of its body was non-organic compounds. One of the two lab assistants bent down, and started to carefully coil the Mouse-creature's tail beside it.

"Wait," Haley turned to grab her clipboard, clicking the pen against her shoulder. "Just how long is that?"

"Six foot, three inches," came the assistant's answer, his voice quaking slightly. Haley gave him a reassuring smile. These kids were both hardly out of grad school; Area 51 only employed the best and the brightest. Unfortunately, Haley had learned that those traits often manifested in socially stunted people these days. She passed the clipboard and the pen over to him. "I think you know what to do."

_Stan_. His name occurred to her as he flashed a grin back, and started right in on the task at hand. With the subject out of the vat, they could define some variables that would ultimately help her tweak the radio transceiver that waited to be installed. The other assistant, Jake, she thought was his name, double checked the IV bag of sedative before coming over to stand beside her.

"Two days ago, this hand was practically stripped clean of flesh... and now look.." Haley picked up the Mouse's hand, spreading fingers, and ruffling the short, dense fur. "Regenerative powers like this might not be species typical though. I have a feeling it's due to the foreign material we found in its bloodstream."

"Are we going to try to isolate that material, and replicate it?" Jake asked. "Can you imagine the impact that sort of healing advantage would have on our medical profession?"

Haley nodded quietly, placing the Mouse's hand back down by its side. She gestured Jake to join her at the side table, stepping away for a moment, while Stan finished up his preliminary work. Haley picked up the transceiver and hefted it slightly. It consisted of a small box, attached to a collar of sorts. From the box, two leads ran out and ended in bare wires, ready for whatever sort of adapters they needed when they actually found the ports at the base of the subject's skull.

As Haley showed Jake just how she would need him to hold the collar while she installed it, she heard a small sound from behind her, as if Stan had just coughed in surprise. She paid it no attention at first, until Jake had turned, and swore softly under his breath. No sooner than the curse was out of his mouth, than he was grabbed by dark hands, and thrown across the room. Jake hit the far wall, with a crack and slid to the floor bonelessly.

The transceiver hit the ground, and Haley's feet were lifted free from it. Glowing blue eyes latched onto fearful ones, and the irritated swish-and-snap sound that its tail was making blocked out any other noise that Haley could hear. Her life flickered before her eyes, woefully short, and woefully dull, and highlighted by one brief regret. She made a promise to herself that if she survived this alien encounter, she would remedy that regret instantly.

"Please don't kill me," Haley managed to squeak.

The Mouse laughed, a low, raspy chuckle. "Oh, no," her voice sounded pained, but it reverberated with the sound of a threat. "You, little doctor, are my ticket to freedom."

* * *

Ricochet could feel her cool slipping. The frustration just kept bubbling up, threatening to overwhelm her common sense. She'd always prided herself on being calm, and easy going, easy to get along with and, well, adaptable to most any situation. She blamed the autonomy that she and her sister had been operating with the last few years on why she couldn't stand the pig-headed stubbornness of this Terran general. The four of them were still zip-cuffed, and twice now she'd had to stop Vinnie from cutting himself free with a fusion flare, and his tail.

They were being held in an observation room, a plate window that was opaque from their side, certainly held a cadre of scientists and officials on the opposite side. Modo sat quietly, with his eye closed, head leaning back against a wall. Throttle had, after quietly telling Ricochet that he'd spotted Charley and Howie being brought in, apparently unharmed, picked a spot across from the window, and leaned there. With his field specs on, it was hard to tell if he was staring at the window, or sleeping. Vinnie paced, full of enough nervous energy for the group of them.

Ricochet wanted to cry. It always happened when she got angry. Pleading with the humans had gotten her nowhere, even if one of them did seem to be on their side. She began chewing on the inside of her cheek to keep herself occupied, and when Vinnie made another circuit by her, she suddenly stepped out in front of him.

"Vin. Please... can you, please, stop pacin'? I just.. I need to think."

Vincent drew a breath to voice a protest, but stopped himself short when he met her eyes. She was pleading with him; there were unshed tears shining there, deepening the purple of her eyes to a dark, liquid shade. He felt something in his chest twist, and instead of proclaiming his driving need to blow something up, he swallowed his ego, and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, sure thing, sweetheart."

She stepped forward into his personal space, and leaned her head against his shoulder. Vinnie's arms, already aching from being bound behind his back, flexed against the zip-cuffs with the instinctive need to wrap his arms around her. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, but when he opened them, he glared at the reflective window, hopefully shooting daggers at the occupants on the other side.

"Charley-girl will figure us a way out of this, Rico, you'll see." Vinnie tried to soothe her, but found he didn't sound as confident as he felt about that. "She'll get it all sorted out, and we'll all get to li-"

His optimistic view was cut off by the sudden sound of a klaxon blaring through the compound. The lights dimmed to red, and the entire place seemed drowned out by the sound. Ricochet physically flinched away at that point, jerking back, and spinning around to face the window. It was like the alarm had unleashed a torrent of emotion from her. She threw her shoulder into the glass, feeling it give and buckle beneath the weight.

"Let us out!" She shouted to be heard over the siren. "I know what that is! She's out; she's free! She's going to _kill you all_ if you don't let us help you!"

No one answered Ricochet's shouts. Throttle pushed off the wall to stand beside Vinnie.

"Now's the time, bro," Throttle muttered under his breath.

Vinnie's tail instantly went into action. The humans may have taken his weapons, but they had left the bandoliers, apparently assuming the three-inch tubes on it were merely decorative. Striking a flare up, Vinnie let his tail do the work, buzzing through first his own zip-cuffs, then Throttle's. He passed that flare off to his bro, before pulling a second from his bandolier, and coming up behind Ricochet. With her hands suddenly freed, she grabbed the flare from him, and turned it upon the window itself, melting a hole in the glass without a problem with the Martian tech.

The room beyond was empty; it's occupants apparently having gone to the source of the sirens. It wasn't moments before all four Mice had clambered through the hole, and were following Ricochet out into the abandoned, scarlet-lit hallway. They all paused to listen, ears twitching. Finally, it was Modo who broke the pall, turning left and giving a "this way!"

For a few minutes, they felt like Mice in a maze, turning every which way, down corridor after corridor. Some places in the bunker were a tight squeeze for Modo, forcing him to stoop to get through bulkheads and doors, and at one point, he paused to reorient himself, and Ricochet just ran right past him. Or at least, she attempted to. He snatched a hold of her arm, yanking her back from the intersection moments before armed guards came down from another direction to sweep past them. He could feel the poor girl vibrating as he held onto her. She'd heard it too. Someone calling the tense altercation a hostage situation.

"This is good," Ricochet tried to soothe herself aloud. "If she's taken hostages, then she's thinking... which means I can talk her down..."

"You don't really think she'd go on a manic killing spree, do you?" Throttle had to ask, since she seemed genuinely concerned of that occurring.

Rico stepped back out into the hallway, facing down the way the soldiers had run. "She's capable of anythin'. A few humans is nothin'." There was a sadness in her gaze as she glanced back toward Throttle. "Remember, back on Mars, when President Stock's regime was assassinated, before martial law was instilled?"

Throttle nodded, remembering that clearly. It had been that same week that Stoker's little band of misfit civilians known as the Freedom Fighters had been requested to work with the Martian army against the Plutarkian invasion. "Waitaminute.."

Modo finished his thought. "Are you tellin' us that it was Steel that pulled the trigger on Stock, and the Council of Clans?"

Ricochet nodded slightly, but her eyes were on the ceiling. Then at the boys. Her mouth quirked into a smile. "Boys.. I have plan..."

* * *

Steel's head was still half-full of fog. She knew now that she'd made a mistake, forcing the doctor out of the lab and into the hallway. She'd expected to be able to just waltz out of here with the good doctor in tow. But the humans were far more stubborn than she had thought. They had her blocked in. Both ends of the hallway were barricaded off, and over that barricade bristled a porcupine-shaped front of weaponry. Rifles and pistols and shotguns all pointed in her general direction. The only reason they hadn't killed her yet, was probably the fact that she had the doctor as a shield.

Doctor Silver kept reassuring the gathering crowd that she was doing just fine. She kept talking to Steel in a low, quiet voice, that frankly, was making it harder for her to think. There were still drugs in her system. The nanites were getting overtaxed, repairing the damage, fighting the drugs. If the solution they'd kept her in had been half as nutrient rich was it was, Steel doubted that she would have even been able to stand.

But it was all too familiar. Memories warred to the surface, threatening to throw her into a full-blown flashback. She was a state-of-the-art murder-machine. She didn't need a gun, or a knife to hold the doctor hostage. One twitch of her arm, one twist, and the doc would be dead. But Steel knew that she'd be without protection then. And if she died, who would watch out for her little sister then?

"You need to shut up." Steel growled into the human's ear, cutting her softly spoken words off. The human was crying, the salty smell of her tears was clogging up Steel's normally sensitive nose. In the brief moment of silence that gave her, she heard a new commotion happening from the back of the crowd. And something else, a noise from the vent shaft above them. "If this is your human idea of a clever plan..." Steel started to utter a threat, but the grate above moved, and two shapes dropped out of the ceiling.

_Rico ? _Steel fought to keep her focus. That couldn't be her sister. She'd left Ricochet in Baltimore. And that.. wasn't that... Steel gave herself a shake, to convince herself that the drugs weren't making her hallucinate. It was Vincent, the white Mouse that had saved Ricochet's life.

"Sissy? Sissy, it's me. Rico. Look, I'm safe; I'm okay. You don't have to do this..." Ricochet started to take a step forward, when behind her, she heard the sound of weapons priming.

Seconds later a voice cried out: "Hold your fire!" Over the barricade clambered the federal agent who had at least attempted to thwart their arrest. "Hold! Hold!" He put himself between the guns, and the Mice, knowing a negotiation when he saw one.

With Rammer at her back, and Vinnie at her side, Ricochet felt emboldened. She broke into a smile at her sister, showing her that everything was fine, spreading her hands out wide as she pleaded softly. "This isn't how we wanted official contact to go, remember? We planned it; sympathetic humans... the Freedom Fighters. Anti-Plutarkian movements? Remember? No hostages; no shootin's."

Steel shifted her weight, blinking rapidly at the figure before her. Her focus was blurry, the glow of her blue eyes dimmed with the weight of the drugs in her system. Rico could see her fighting against the haze of memories.

"We..." Steel started to loosen her grip. "I fucked it up..."

"Naw," Ricochet laughed softly, glancing to her side at Vinnie. He was warily looking around at all the guns pointed in his direction. There was no way either of them could survive if anyone opened fire.

"Can we.. y'know? Step it up here? I don't wanna be Swiss cheese.." Vinnie shuddered as he whispered his plea. The very idea of being compared to cheese bothered him. Ricochet waved a hand at him, as if placating his fears.

She was still focused on her sister. "You didn't do anything.. accidents happen. We get caught sometimes. That's just part of the job, remember? The Terrans are the good guys... we're good guys. And good guys don't hold hostages.."

Steel's grip tightened, causing Dr. Silver to practically squeak. "Good guys don't experiment on their allies.."

"No, no they don't! But how could they know we're on their side? This is First Contact, sissy! This, right here... right now. In front of all these people, all these Terrans. Let her go, sissy. Let her go, and maybe, we can save this. Maybe we can save _them._"

Steel wavered on her feet, taking half a step back to lean herself against the doorway. For the first time, she seemed to really assess the threat going on; she seemed to notice the two blockades fully. Her eyes flickered, and lowered. Ricochet held one hand out, and slowly, Steel's grip on the doctor loosened, until she made a snatch for her sister's arm.

Haley bolted the moment the Mouse's arm straightened. She could have gone a dozen places; she could have ran for the blockade and the bristling safety of the guns. But no, even that paled in comparison to her goal. She rushed into Rammer's waiting grasp, her arms thrown around his waist and her face buried in the collar of his shirt. James didn't waste a moment, enfolding her in his arms, and bending his lips to brush against her hair.

"Hey.. it's okay.. you're safe now. I've got you, Haley. I won't let anything happen to you, ever."


End file.
